


Lost and Found

by orphan_account



Series: 00Q [2]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1833673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Fight for Q'. The fight against the organisation continues, and it's just about to get even more personal for the Quartermaster and 007. Still features 00Q. Rated T for suicidal themes and self-harm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Run, 007, faster!" Q's normally cool and collected voice kept threatening to crack as he watched his lover being chased through the streets, pursued by eight armed criminals, on the other side of the Channel. He could hear Bond panting through the earpiece; for the first five kilometres his chaser's had been in cars.

"Turn right into that doorway ahead of you, go downstairs, then left. No, left, Bond!"

Gunshots sounded across Q-Unit, exploding from Bond's earpiece.

"Q, I can't shake them."

"Don't you dare," Q said, as he recognised Bond's tone of voice. "You're outnumbered! You can't! Don't you dare!"

"Q," Bond puffed. "You know this is the best shot we've had at this bloody organisation for months! I can't let this file get away!"

"If you die, Bond, then we'll lose the information as well!"

More bullets peppered the wall near Bond's head, and he swore as he felt brick shards skate across his face.

"Where's the trust, Quartermaster?"

Before Q could say another word, he heard Bond fire back at the attackers, leaping to get into a better position.

"Someone get me CCTV, anything, now!" He yelled across Q-Unit, sending his minions scurrying.

"I'm sorry, sir, we can't! They've been shot out!"

Q swore under his breath just as the firing stopped from the earpiece.

"Bond? 007, report!"

There was nothing for one horrifying heartbeat.

"Targets eliminated."

Everyone in Q-Unit let out a sigh of relief, and Q had to brace himself on his desk to stop his knees giving way.

"Are you injured?"

"Minor scratches, nothing to be concerned about, sir. But you're still more than welcome to look me over once I get home." His tone slipped from teasing to suggestive.

Q rubbed his forehead, ignoring Bond's comment and the giggling from the minions behind him, and motioned for someone to go get him more tea. He then straightened his back and squared his shoulders, once more becoming the Quartermaster of MI6.

"Return as soon as possible, agent. Your car's still waiting back on Main Street."

"Thank you Q, I should return in four hours."

"You better," Q muttered, only loud enough for Bond to hear him.

Bond laughed.

"Or what my dear-" Two shots echoed through the connection, surprisingly loud, and all of Bond's vitals on the screen went blank.

"No," Q thought, his mind going numb as he saw Bond's heartbeat and blood pressure both blank out. "No, James, please."

All of Q-Unit had gone completely silent.

"Tracker!" Q ordered, his voice pure authority. "Get his tracker now!"

"Bond?" He said into 007's earpiece. "James, please! Please, please answer!" There was only static.

"Sir," R said behind him. "We've lost the signal from the tracker. It's gone."

Q picked up two phones at once, his work one and his personal one. He dialled Bond's number from his personal, and 003's from his work. 003 picked up while Bond's was still ringing.

"Q?" He was puffing, Q knew he was down in the gym, running a training exercise for the new recruits.

"003, come to Q-Unit now, you're going to France. We've lost signal on Bond."

"On my way," When 003 hung up, Bond's phone rang out.

"James."

Two hours later 003 was dropped off at the same town Bond was in, armed only with a gun and an emergency first-aid pack. As soon as he touched the ground, Q walked back out of his office. R looked at him in dismay. In 120 minutes he'd gone from the unruffled, untouchable Quartermaster, flirting with his agent boyfriend, trying to bring down an illegal international organisation, to a complete wreck. His hair was out of control, as if Q had been clawing at it, and his eyes were red with tears. R could see his hands shaking as well; not a good sign.

"Q, can I take this one?" She asked hesitantly, but he shook her off.

"I'm fine." His voice was hoarse and didn't come out louder than a whisper. He listened to 003 on the comms as he walked in to where Bond had last been heard.

"Q, his car's here. I can see it in the road. The tyres have been shot out."

Q heard a door open.

"Including the spare. No-one's near the car. I'm going inside."

A few more seconds silence.

"I can see the bodies. There's seven dead here, all which match the pictures you got of the pursuers. I can't see Bond, though. But Q…"

"What? What else is there?" Q's knuckles were white against his desk, his heartbeat thundering through him.

"There's heaps of blood. And it didn't come from the seven here."

"Can you follow it?"

"No, it stops near the doorway, someone was pressuring it."

Q felt a flicker of hope and he clutched at it wildly.

"003, is it possible that it was Bond who got out? Because we're still missing one of the attackers, too. Eight of them followed him in."

"At the moment it looks like it could have been either of them… Hang on Q, there's something around the corner…"

Q counted to five in his head and then couldn't stand it, hope filling his chest.

"003, what is it? What do you see?"

"It's… Oh shit, Q… I'm so sorry."

Q could feel the whole of Q-Unit's eyes on his back.

"It's," 003 continued. "It's the eighth man and… Q, it's Bond. It's James."

The world crashed around Q. His ears roared, and he could vaguely feel himself falling, and then hitting the ground, hard. He was only dimly aware of R's voice, and someone's hands trying to move him, and then giving up and letting him lie on the cold floor. Because this couldn't be true, not after everything that had happened, not after Markusi, it couldn't be James, it couldn't be now… Without realising, Q started sobbing, huge gut-wrenching sobs that caused his body to begin shaking like he'd touched a livewire. His eyes were closed, but his head was spinning, as if it was physically trying to make him look at the problem from another point of view. After an indeterminate amount of time, he felt new hands on him and Eve's voice sounded softly in his ear, breaking him out of his haze. She tugged on his hand and he unconsciously got to his feet and staggered into his office, where the door was shut and he collapsed on his couch. It still smelled like James, who had been lying here not two days ago… This couldn't be happening.

"Q," Eve was speaking again. "Q, you need to listen to me now, OK? You need to know. James was shot and killed in the alleyway, after killing the last of his attackers. His face… 003 couldn't recognise his face anymore, but he knows Bond's body shape, and the man had Bond's Walther on him, as well as his phone. 003's bringing him home now, he'll be here in two days."

Eve looked at him, her expression a horrible mix between pity and professionalism.

"I'm going to get you a drink. Sit tight."

She got up and left.

Once the door clicked shut, Q tried to sit up, his muscles aching as they minutely relaxed from his position on the floor. He took a deep breath, but the room span even more and he bolted of out of the office and into the bathrooms, emptying his stomach in one of the cubicles. His whole body, his whole being, rejecting what Eve had told him.

Eventually he stood up again, sticky with sweat, and made his way back to his office, not even feeling the stares he was given by some from Q-Unit, and the tears of others. R quietly got everyone's attention back and continued them working, organising 003 and 007's return home.

Q closed his office door and spotted a full wine bottle and a glass on his table, presumably from Eve. He picked it up, but the sweat from his hands made the bottle slip and floor. Q lunged forward trying to catch it before it hit the carpet but only managed to knock it onto the table, where it smashed beneath his hands. Immediately his white carpet, cardigan, and pants were covered in red as the wine stained the material. Q swore and bent down to pick up the pieces of glass when pain lanced up his arms. He looked at himself more closely and realised that a new shade of red was blending with the first.

A wave of helplessness crashed over him. He couldn't do this without James, he couldn't face the world without him. Even before Markusi Bond had been Q's rock, always settling him, comforting him against failed missions and missing agents, being the first person Q had trusted for years…  
He was broken out of his thoughts by the door opening and R rushing in. Her face turned from concern to shock to horror as she took in the spilt drink and the blood.

"I heard the crash… I'll get some towels."

She backed out, closing the door behind her. Q looked around the room, completely lost.

"James."

"I'll take him home," Eve volunteered. It was four in the morning, and the last of the paperwork had been written up – there was always so much to do after an agent fell in the field – and the only thing needed was the Quartermaster's signature, as he'd been 007's handler for the mission, but even M said that it could wait a day. Q had stayed in his office, not opening the door since R bought him some towels to clean the alcohol.

"Thank you, Eve, but no." M looked exhausted, dark smudges having appeared under his eyes. "I think it would be better if he stayed here."

"But sir-"

"Thank you for your input, but I need Q under my supervision." His tone was final.

Eve nodded and picked up her bag.

"I'll be in my flat if I'm needed."

Once she left, M let out a huge sigh and sank down into his chair. He knew he needed sleep, but he couldn't leave MI6 with Q holed up in his office. No one else, not even Eve or Tanner, knew Q's file, knew his history. M didn't even think Bond had. M accessed the surveillance system for the headquarters and hooked his computer up to the camera showing Q's office door. He wouldn't invade Q's privacy by watching what he was doing inside, but he could instantly see if Q left the room.

Someone needed to watch over him tonight.

Q didn't sleep either. He sat in the corner of his office staring at his phone, his arms wrapped around his knees, tears falling down his face. After Markusi, whenever Bond was on a mission he always texted, every night he was away. It was always the exact same text, and Q once joked with him that he just copied and pasted it, but Bond had looked him in the eyes and said he wouldn't dream of it, because he meant it every time.

"I'm missing you. I'll be home soon. Stay safe."

But no matter how much he stared at it, wishing, praying, Q's phone stayed blank.

After another few hours Q heard workers in Q-Unit again, chatting as they came in and then falling silent as the night shift told them what had happened. There were a few footsteps near his door, but he heard R's voice call whoever it was back, and the footsteps faded away.

Time passed slowly. It was two in the afternoon when there was a knock on the door, and Q ignored it, not wanting anyone to come in, not wanting to talk to anyone. To his distaste a key card sounded and the door unlocked itself. M stepped in, holding a steaming mug, and a bottle of water. He closed the door, cutting off the bustle from the Unit, and looked at Q on the ground. Q looked at his phone. M didn't say anything for minutes. Finally he put the water and tea down on the table and walked back to the door.

"I'll be in my office."

Then he was gone.

After a while, the day shift ended and Q-Unit emptied again. When there was no sound coming from outside, Q slowly stood up and opened the door. R was the only one there, and she looked up, saw Q's expression, and looked back down at her computer. Q stepped over some food trays that had been left outside his door and went to the bathrooms. By the time he got there, he was shaking again, and he only just managed to reach a toilet before he threw up the nothing that was left in his stomach. He wiped his mouth on some damp paper towel and walked back to his office, ignoring the food, R, and anything else that could have been in between. He collapsed onto the sofa, unable to support himself, and fell back into the darkness of his thoughts.

Upstairs, M sighed. He'd watched Q move outside of his office for about five minutes, and then return, looking weaker than he had during the day. He picked up the phone, and dialled a number he never thought he was going to have to call again. Like this morning, it was picked up straight away.

"Not good," M responded to a question. "No, he hasn't eaten, or drunk anything. Could you…? No, I understand. I'll keep an eye on him. Of course, sir, I'll call you if nothing changes… Or if something does."


	2. Chapter Two

It was another few days before Q was finally bundled up and taken home by Eve. Q sat listlessly in the car as she drove them through London's traffic and didn't say a word as she pulled up outside the apartment. Which meant that there was no way she could have anticipated the rage the Q flew into when she tried to come in. He all but pushed her out, slamming the door in her face, revolted by the thought of anyone coming into his sanctuary… What had been his sanctuary.

As soon as Eve left the building, Q stumbled to the bedroom and collapsed on James's side of the bed, holding onto his pillow like life-support. His arms twinged where the glass had cut them, but the bandages cushioned the worst of the pain. He couldn't even remember who'd performed the first aid, was it Eve? Or M, on one of his visits, leaving another mug on Q's table and taking the last cold one away? When the sun had finally set Q fell into a sort of forced unconsciousness, his body giving out under the exhaustion of the last few days.

He'd been there when they bought Bond's body in. It was the first time he'd left his office when there were still people working at Q-Unit, instead of sneaking past R in between shifts. No-one commented when their Quartermaster turned up and made his way through the few people in the room. He zipped open the body-bag and stared into the mess of what had used to be a face. Someone had cleaned up the blood, but it still looked gory, unhuman, just a mass of torn flesh. This couldn't be James, it couldn't… Q had left the room with his stomach turning.

When Q resurfaced, it was well into the night. Even the constant sound of the cars had dulled to an occasional horn blast, or a fading engine. He lay in the bed, looking at the ceiling, still clinging to the pillow. He pushed his head into it and inhaled, filling his lungs with the smell of James, before it all faded away. He barely moved for three days. And for the whole time, he was asking himself one question: What's the point without James? On the fourth day, Q made a decision and opened his laptop.

Eve knocked on M's door and walked in, twirling a pen through her fingers.

"You asked to see me, sir?"

M motioned for her to sit down.

"Eve, I'm telling you this with the knowledge that you can do this discreetly, and then never tell another person. I'm not going to tell you the reasons why, I just need you to do as I ask. Is that clear?"

Eve nodded, leaning forward slightly in her chair. What was going on?

"I'm putting Q on a watch list. He will be returning to work shortly, I'm speaking to him this evening, but from now on, no matter where he is, I want to know what he's doing and where he's going."

Eve looked at M, not believing what she's hearing.

"Sir, I understand Q's not in a good state of mind right now, but he would never sell us out. He loves his job, it's his life, and his loss won't make him betray us, I promise you."

M shook his head. He was hoping he wasn't going to have to spell this out.

"Eve, I'm not putting him on a surveillance list. It's like you said, he's not in his right mind at the moment. I don't want him to do anything… desperate."

M looked at Eve as what he was saying sunk in. She opened her mouth, and then remembered how she said she wouldn't ask any questions.

"I'm worried about him, Eve. I won't lose him."

Eve nodded again, her eyes shining.

"Of course, sir." She stood up. "I'll put him on the list straight away, and figure out a security detail to have him…"

"Have him followed," M said, standing, too. "Whatever it takes, Eve."

Eve turned around to leave, and froze. M looked up and froze, too, staring at the doorway.

Bloody, bruised, beaten. It was Bond.

"Who's getting followed?"

Eve and M just kept staring. After a minute Bond spoke again.

"You know, I'd have thought that by now you really won't be surprised that I'm not dead."

Finally M blinked.

"007. What happened?"

Bond leant against the doorway and winced.

"Could we debrief in an hour? I feel like I really should make an appearance at Q-Unit."

He smirked, thinking how stunned Q was going to be. To his surprise, M and Eve just looked at each other, for once neither of them saying a word.

"Bond… Q's not at MI6."

It was the tone of voice that caught Bond off guard. It was tentative, cautious. Something was going on. Something about Q. Something that made M sound scared.

"M, what's happened?"

"You died."

"Where is he?"

"He's-" But he was cut off by a sound from his computer alerting him to an incoming email. M clicked on it and read it quickly, his eyes widening. He stood up and grabbed something from a drawer in his desk.

"My car, now!"

He hurried out the door and Bond and Eve chased after him. Halfway to the parking lot M broke into a run, racing through the corridors, sending interns piled up with papers flying. It wasn't until they had flung themselves in M's car that Bond got a word out.

"Where are we going? What's happened?"

"The email was from Q." M threw his car into reverse. "It was a letter of resignation."

After Q sent the email to M, he stared at the computer for a second before pushing down on the power button and watched the screen go black. His phone rang. It was M's number. Q ignored it. His phone rang again a minute later and the new number sent a shock of fury and grief down his spine. Why would he be calling now? M couldn't… M wouldn't have…

"Does it matter now?" Q asked, looking at himself in the mirror. He already looked like a ghost.

"No."

He ignored the second call. And the third one, this time from Eve. Q walked to the bathroom, dragging his feet. Everything was so much effort and it seemed to take years to move the few steps to get into the other room. He slowly unwrapped his arms, looking at the impressions the wine bottle had smashed onto his skin. M would've made him get those grafted over as well, an experience Q was glad that he wouldn't have to go through again. He flexed and he saw the blood well up and trickle down his wrists. Who said he should've gotten stitches? They were right.

Q opened the bathroom cupboard and looked at his options. They always kept heavy-duty medications at their house. The number of times Bond had come home bleeding, even performing self-surgery rather than go into Medical was astonishing. Q ran his hand across the packets until it came to rest on one almost by itself. He pulled it open and broke the seal, admiring the fine white powder that came away in his fingers. His hands were shaking again and he heard his phone demanding his attention from the bedroom. Someone was moving heavily through the staircase, Q could hear them even from inside the apartment. He wondered briefly what the rush was and then shook his head. Without James nothing mattered.

"You know," he told himself. "That sounds so petty." He knew that if James had died prior to his trip to Markusi, he probably would've been able to cope. But he still woke up screaming, twitching, thrashing in their bed, and only James could calm him down. Without him, Q knew he would be overwhelmed by the torturous dreams, by the scars that MI6 couldn't just cover over, and for someone who was always in complete control, the mere thought of that was too terrifying to consider.

"I can't do it without you James."

He hoped that wherever James was now, he couldn't see him.

Bond sprinted to the door and jammed his hand on the doorknob. It read his palm-print and unlocked itself. He flew through the door, yelling across the apartment.

"Q! Q!"

He ran into their bedroom and saw Q's laptop, turned off, and Q's phone on the bed. He looked around wildly, trying to find him. And only because he'd stopped moving did he hear the smallest sob, a most despairing intake of breath coming from the bathroom.

"Q!"

He almost tore down the bathroom door.

The two of them made eye contact, neither moving from their position. Bond was poised as if he was about to attack, or defend, someone with his life. All his muscles were tense and he was experiencing a type of adrenaline he didn't know before Q's rescue in Markusi. Bond took in Q, seeing everything at once. His hair was more tangled than Bond had ever seen it and it cast a dark shadow over Q's skin which had returned to the sallow colour it was after Q was kidnapped. All the weight Q had regained over the past six months had disappeared in a week and it made Q look more like a skeleton than ever before. Blood dripped down both his arms and onto the floor, making the tiles slick beneath Q's feet. In his hands was a box that Bond recognised immediately. Hadn't he insisted that Q should bring some home from Medical? Hadn't he said that it was the only thing that could stop the hurt of a bullet wound, or worse? Seals were cracked and Bond quickly counted how many were missing from the packet, and how many were in Q's hands. It was the same number. Q was shaking like a leaf, just staring at Bond, as if he didn't, or couldn't, believe what his eyes were telling him.

Ever so cautiously Bond took a half-step forward.

"Q? Q, it's me. I'm so, so sorry. I'm not dead, I promise this is real."

Q didn't even breathe. Bond took another step closer.

"I was being followed and I had to get them off my trail, which included giving them my phone and gun. I'm so sorry, I got back as soon as I could."

A single tear slid down Q's cheek.

"I did get shot, in my side, which is why my tracker and vitals went down. It was a lucky shot on their behalf, it was a complete fluke. I'm so sorry."

A second tear quickly followed the first and Bond took another step closer. There were only centimetres between them now. Bond reached up, as slowly as he could, and gently cupped Q's face. As their skin touched, Q took in a deep breath and swayed on the spot for a second, until he staggered forward. Bond caught him and gently lowered them both to the ground, holding Q's shaking form in his arms, to his chest, with Q's ear pressed against his heart.

M and Eve found them like that a minute later, sitting in a widening pool of blood, with pills scattered around them, like confetti. Q's head was buried in Bond's shoulder and neither of them moved as their two friends looked on. Finally M touched Eve's elbow and motioned for them to step away. They went to the kitchen where Eve put on the kettle and M poured a drink, helping himself to some of Bond's expensive Scotch.

They heard a shower turn on, and then off five minutes later. Five minutes after that both Bond and Q came out with Q's arms neatly rebandaged. Q look exhausted and Bond didn't look much better and Eve noticed that even as they sat down, they still kept some contact between them. M poured another glass of Scotch, which Bond took gratefully. Eve poured Q some tea. The four of them sipped their drinks silently. When Eve and M were done they put their glasses in the sink and Eve opened the front door.

"Q," M said. "As of tomorrow you're going to be seeing the psychologist at work twice a week. I won't take you off any of your duties, but you'll be watched closely. Have a good rest. Bond? Please report to Medical tomorrow as well, we need to stitch you up properly and give you a new tracker. Then you'll come debrief in my office. See you both then."

He laid his hand on Q's shoulder for a moment and then turned and left, Eve closed the door behind them.

Neither Bond nor Q said anything for a while, afraid of what the other person was thinking.

When both glasses were washed and dried, Bond took Q's hands and pulled him into bed, holding him against his chest again.

"I love you," he said against the mop of dark hair beneath his chin.

"I'm sorry," Q whispered, tensing at Bond's reaction.

"I don't think that's the typical answer, Q. I love you."

Q hesitated.

"I love you, James."

"Go to sleep my dearest. I'll be here when you wake up."

Q reached into the blankets until he found Bond's hand and squeezed it.

"I know."It was another few days before Q was finally bundled up and taken home by Eve. Q sat listlessly in the car as she drove them through London's traffic and didn't say a word as she pulled up outside the apartment. Which meant that there was no way she could have anticipated the rage the Q flew into when she tried to come in. He all but pushed her out, slamming the door in her face, revolted by the thought of anyone coming into his sanctuary… What had been his sanctuary.

As soon as Eve left the building, Q stumbled to the bedroom and collapsed on James's side of the bed, holding onto his pillow like life-support. His arms twinged where the glass had cut them, but the bandages cushioned the worst of the pain. He couldn't even remember who'd performed the first aid, was it Eve? Or M, on one of his visits, leaving another mug on Q's table and taking the last cold one away? When the sun had finally set Q fell into a sort of forced unconsciousness, his body giving out under the exhaustion of the last few days.

He'd been there when they bought Bond's body in. It was the first time he'd left his office when there were still people working at Q-Unit, instead of sneaking past R in between shifts. No-one commented when their Quartermaster turned up and made his way through the few people in the room. He zipped open the body-bag and stared into the mess of what had used to be a face. Someone had cleaned up the blood, but it still looked gory, unhuman, just a mass of torn flesh. This couldn't be James, it couldn't… Q had left the room with his stomach turning.

When Q resurfaced, it was well into the night. Even the constant sound of the cars had dulled to an occasional horn blast, or a fading engine. He lay in the bed, looking at the ceiling, still clinging to the pillow. He pushed his head into it and inhaled, filling his lungs with the smell of James, before it all faded away. He barely moved for three days. And for the whole time, he was asking himself one question: What's the point without James? On the fourth day, Q made a decision and opened his laptop.

Eve knocked on M's door and walked in, twirling a pen through her fingers.

"You asked to see me, sir?"

M motioned for her to sit down.

"Eve, I'm telling you this with the knowledge that you can do this discreetly, and then never tell another person. I'm not going to tell you the reasons why, I just need you to do as I ask. Is that clear?"

Eve nodded, leaning forward slightly in her chair. What was going on?

"I'm putting Q on a watch list. He will be returning to work shortly, I'm speaking to him this evening, but from now on, no matter where he is, I want to know what he's doing and where he's going."

Eve looked at M, not believing what she's hearing.

"Sir, I understand Q's not in a good state of mind right now, but he would never sell us out. He loves his job, it's his life, and his loss won't make him betray us, I promise you."

M shook his head. He was hoping he wasn't going to have to spell this out.

"Eve, I'm not putting him on a surveillance list. It's like you said, he's not in his right mind at the moment. I don't want him to do anything… desperate."

M looked at Eve as what he was saying sunk in. She opened her mouth, and then remembered how she said she wouldn't ask any questions.

"I'm worried about him, Eve. I won't lose him."

Eve nodded again, her eyes shining.

"Of course, sir." She stood up. "I'll put him on the list straight away, and figure out a security detail to have him…"

"Have him followed," M said, standing, too. "Whatever it takes, Eve."

Eve turned around to leave, and froze. M looked up and froze, too, staring at the doorway.

Bloody, bruised, beaten. It was Bond.

"Who's getting followed?"

Eve and M just kept staring. After a minute Bond spoke again.

"You know, I'd have thought that by now you really won't be surprised that I'm not dead."

Finally M blinked.

"007. What happened?"

Bond leant against the doorway and winced.

"Could we debrief in an hour? I feel like I really should make an appearance at Q-Unit."

He smirked, thinking how stunned Q was going to be. To his surprise, M and Eve just looked at each other, for once neither of them saying a word.

"Bond… Q's not at MI6."

It was the tone of voice that caught Bond off guard. It was tentative, cautious. Something was going on. Something about Q. Something that made M sound scared.

"M, what's happened?"

"You died."

"Where is he?"

"He's-" But he was cut off by a sound from his computer alerting him to an incoming email. M clicked on it and read it quickly, his eyes widening. He stood up and grabbed something from a drawer in his desk.

"My car, now!"

He hurried out the door and Bond and Eve chased after him. Halfway to the parking lot M broke into a run, racing through the corridors, sending interns piled up with papers flying. It wasn't until they had flung themselves in M's car that Bond got a word out.

"Where are we going? What's happened?"

"The email was from Q." M threw his car into reverse. "It was a letter of resignation."

After Q sent the email to M, he stared at the computer for a second before pushing down on the power button and watched the screen go black. His phone rang. It was M's number. Q ignored it. His phone rang again a minute later and the new number sent a shock of fury and grief down his spine. Why would he be calling now? M couldn't… M wouldn't have…

"Does it matter now?" Q asked, looking at himself in the mirror. He already looked like a ghost.

"No."

He ignored the second call. And the third one, this time from Eve. Q walked to the bathroom, dragging his feet. Everything was so much effort and it seemed to take years to move the few steps to get into the other room. He slowly unwrapped his arms, looking at the impressions the wine bottle had smashed onto his skin. M would've made him get those grafted over as well, an experience Q was glad that he wouldn't have to go through again. He flexed and he saw the blood well up and trickle down his wrists. Who said he should've gotten stitches? They were right.

Q opened the bathroom cupboard and looked at his options. They always kept heavy-duty medications at their house. The number of times Bond had come home bleeding, even performing self-surgery rather than go into Medical was astonishing. Q ran his hand across the packets until it came to rest on one almost by itself. He pulled it open and broke the seal, admiring the fine white powder that came away in his fingers. His hands were shaking again and he heard his phone demanding his attention from the bedroom. Someone was moving heavily through the staircase, Q could hear them even from inside the apartment. He wondered briefly what the rush was and then shook his head. Without James nothing mattered.

"You know," he told himself. "That sounds so petty." He knew that if James had died prior to his trip to Markusi, he probably would've been able to cope. But he still woke up screaming, twitching, thrashing in their bed, and only James could calm him down. Without him, Q knew he would be overwhelmed by the torturous dreams, by the scars that MI6 couldn't just cover over, and for someone who was always in complete control, the mere thought of that was too terrifying to consider.

"I can't do it without you James."

He hoped that wherever James was now, he couldn't see him.

Bond sprinted to the door and jammed his hand on the doorknob. It read his palm-print and unlocked itself. He flew through the door, yelling across the apartment.

"Q! Q!"

He ran into their bedroom and saw Q's laptop, turned off, and Q's phone on the bed. He looked around wildly, trying to find him. And only because he'd stopped moving did he hear the smallest sob, a most despairing intake of breath coming from the bathroom.

"Q!"

He almost tore down the bathroom door.

The two of them made eye contact, neither moving from their position. Bond was poised as if he was about to attack, or defend, someone with his life. All his muscles were tense and he was experiencing a type of adrenaline he didn't know before Q's rescue in Markusi. Bond took in Q, seeing everything at once. His hair was more tangled than Bond had ever seen it and it cast a dark shadow over Q's skin which had returned to the sallow colour it was after Q was kidnapped. All the weight Q had regained over the past six months had disappeared in a week and it made Q look more like a skeleton than ever before. Blood dripped down both his arms and onto the floor, making the tiles slick beneath Q's feet. In his hands was a box that Bond recognised immediately. Hadn't he insisted that Q should bring some home from Medical? Hadn't he said that it was the only thing that could stop the hurt of a bullet wound, or worse? Seals were cracked and Bond quickly counted how many were missing from the packet, and how many were in Q's hands. It was the same number. Q was shaking like a leaf, just staring at Bond, as if he didn't, or couldn't, believe what his eyes were telling him.

Ever so cautiously Bond took a half-step forward.

"Q? Q, it's me. I'm so, so sorry. I'm not dead, I promise this is real."

Q didn't even breathe. Bond took another step closer.

"I was being followed and I had to get them off my trail, which included giving them my phone and gun. I'm so sorry, I got back as soon as I could."

A single tear slid down Q's cheek.

"I did get shot, in my side, which is why my tracker and vitals went down. It was a lucky shot on their behalf, it was a complete fluke. I'm so sorry."

A second tear quickly followed the first and Bond took another step closer. There were only centimetres between them now. Bond reached up, as slowly as he could, and gently cupped Q's face. As their skin touched, Q took in a deep breath and swayed on the spot for a second, until he staggered forward. Bond caught him and gently lowered them both to the ground, holding Q's shaking form in his arms, to his chest, with Q's ear pressed against his heart.

M and Eve found them like that a minute later, sitting in a widening pool of blood, with pills scattered around them, like confetti. Q's head was buried in Bond's shoulder and neither of them moved as their two friends looked on. Finally M touched Eve's elbow and motioned for them to step away. They went to the kitchen where Eve put on the kettle and M poured a drink, helping himself to some of Bond's expensive Scotch.

They heard a shower turn on, and then off five minutes later. Five minutes after that both Bond and Q came out with Q's arms neatly rebandaged. Q look exhausted and Bond didn't look much better and Eve noticed that even as they sat down, they still kept some contact between them. M poured another glass of Scotch, which Bond took gratefully. Eve poured Q some tea. The four of them sipped their drinks silently. When Eve and M were done they put their glasses in the sink and Eve opened the front door.

"Q," M said. "As of tomorrow you're going to be seeing the psychologist at work twice a week. I won't take you off any of your duties, but you'll be watched closely. Have a good rest. Bond? Please report to Medical tomorrow as well, we need to stitch you up properly and give you a new tracker. Then you'll come debrief in my office. See you both then."

He laid his hand on Q's shoulder for a moment and then turned and left, Eve closed the door behind them.

Neither Bond nor Q said anything for a while, afraid of what the other person was thinking.

When both glasses were washed and dried, Bond took Q's hands and pulled him into bed, holding him against his chest again.

"I love you," he said against the mop of dark hair beneath his chin.

"I'm sorry," Q whispered, tensing at Bond's reaction.

"I don't think that's the typical answer, Q. I love you."

Q hesitated.

"I love you, James."

"Go to sleep my dearest. I'll be here when you wake up."

Q reached into the blankets until he found Bond's hand and squeezed it.

"I know."


	3. Chapter Three

Life went back to normal at MI6 – or at least as 'normal' as it could get. The minions at Q-Unit didn't ask when their leader had to leave for an hour, twice a week, and they thought that M had an extra special interest in a new weapons prototype, because why else would he be visiting more often?

007's latest resurrection was the talk of the headquarters for a whole week, before 001 managed to set fire to Singapore. It had seemed the organisation had finally caught on that someone was trying to track them down, and was getting more and more defensive. Bond had managed to stumble on a group of them, when there should have only been an individual, which was why he was chased and shot. There had seemed to be only eight pursuers, but more were waiting outside, after the surrounding cameras – and Bond's tracker – had been shot out. He'd eliminated the seven in the room and gone outside to find at least ten more waiting for him. He threw a few off his trail and got two cornered, killing them, but the others had been right behind him and by this point he was bleeding profusely and vastly outnumbered. He saw one of the men was almost exactly his size and mangled his face enough to ensure he wouldn't be recognised. He swapped their clothes, and planted his gun and phone on the fake Bond. The minions were shocked that 007 didn't get a lecture from the Quartermaster about haphazardly leaving weapons and communication devices lying around, but then again, 003 had retrieved the items, so all was not lost.

Bond also seemed to hover slightly more in Q-Unit, which the minions didn't mind because it meant their prototypes often got tested straight away, and Q was generally happier when the agent was nearby.

Q-Unit was a bit wary of Q, though. They'd never seen him lose control like he had when Bond died. Of course everything was a little different after Markusi, 007 got a lot more protective, which they didn't think was possible, but this was another change. For the first few days Q kept looking at him, as if to reassure himself that he really was there, but Bond was looking at Q in the same way. There was some talk in the kitchen that maybe someone from the organisation had mentioned Q to Bond, invoking the memories of Q being held captive and had him set on edge, but no one was really sure. The talk was abruptly cut off when the double 0 in question walked in, making the Quartermaster another cup of tea. He'd smiled at them all, and then leaned casually against the bench while the kettle boiled. The minions scuttled back to their desks but Bond caught one, Richards, as he was leaving. He gulped.

"So, it's Richards, right?"

"Yes, sir," he managed to stutter out. Agents were intimidating and no one had a track record like 007, even if he and Q were together.

"I want to ask you something, but you can't ever tell Q that I did. Is that clear?"

Richards hesitated, the thought of doing something against their beloved boss momentarily overriding his fear of an agent.

"It's nothing big, I promise," Bond pressed, giving the techie another winning smile. Richards nodded.

"What do you need, 007?"

"Did Q talk at all? When I was gone, I mean?"

Richards relaxed, was that all?

"No, sir. He was in his office for a few days, and then retired to his apartment. I mean, your apartment!" He blushed and looked at the ground. Bond grunted and thanked him, looking away and Richards backed out of the room, returning to the safety of his desk. He didn't bother to mention the short conversation to anyone, it all seemed irrelevant when he immersed himself back into his computer codes. Who knew what kind of relationship the Quartermaster and 007 had? It was none of his business.

Even though Bond had temporarily been killed, the mission was actually a success. He'd been able to grab the information about the organisation before he was located by the enemy, and he'd held onto it whilst making his way back to England. Unfortunately for Q it wasn't in code.

Well, not computer code. It seemed to give them almost no information at all, and it was driving Q crazy. They had been working on this for months, and this had been their best shot, James had almost died for it, and it was nothing. Not a false lead, but they couldn't get any facts they didn't already have. After another month of sifting through the files, Q blew it. It was a Tuesday morning and Bond was leaning against the walls of Q-Unit, talking with one of the minions about the pros and cons of a new ear-piece when there was a yell and a loud band from Q's office. Bond had his gun out in less than a second and was at Q's door a moment later. He was about to unlock it when it burst open and Q stalked past him, looking furious. Q-Unit fell completely silent. Bond put his gun away hurriedly, knowing that the last thing Q needed was a weapon pointed at him. Q waved generally at R as he picked up a small briefcase from underneath the main desk and then strode out of the room, heading to the practice-range. Everyone looked at Bond, not knowing what to do. Bond looked at R.

"What did he take?"

She looked at the drawer Q had pulled it from and grimaced.

"It's a new bomb we've been meaning to test out. I suppose I can take that out of my schedule this afternoon."

Bond looked towards the door and then went back to his previous conversation. He'd talk to Q later, after he'd blown up a few things.

Q slowly calmed down as he detonated his fifth bomb. He was actually quite pleased by the results. It was a fatal blast, but they'd finally confined it to a ten centimetre radius, making the explosion as controlled as possible. He jotted a note down on the report card before turning the water on in the testing chamber. R had been worried about H2O interference so they'd developed a new skin for the weapon, hoping it would change their previous findings. It took another few blasts before Q realised that M was standing behind him. He shut down the detonator and made a last note on the report before turning around to face him and taking off the headphones.

"That looked successful," M said, motioning towards the blackened test room. Q grinned.

"I'm impressed! The skin's now completely watertight. We've got to check it with fire though, because there's the possibility that it could impact on the explosion range."

"Impact how?"

"Times it by hundred."

M blinked.

"Yeah, we might wait until you get those findings before we send it out in the field."

Q laughed and leaned against the wall, checking no one else was in the room.

"I appreciate you checking on me, M, but surely you've got better things to do with your time."

"I always check on my operatives, but now that you mention it, I have another reason for being here. When Bond was missing, I got a call."

Q immediately tensed. "Don't ask about it. Please, please, M…"

"Don't stress Q, I'm not getting involved in your personal politics. I just wanted you to know that he called me, and I was made to… report to him."

"Which is why he called me when I didn't pick up my phone."

"Yes."

Q thought for a while, trying to make himself relax. It didn't work.

"You know, I really hate it when he does that."

"Q-"

"No! You know my file. You're the only one, M! Not even James knows! About any of it! And he thinks he can just call me when something happens? What reason have I possibly got to pick up when he calls?"

"He was really worried about you, Q."

Q glowered at M.

"Well, he wasn't worried enough two years ago, was he? Or even eighteen months. He didn't care!"

M sighed.

"I'm not getting involved, and I really can't have this discussion with you, for professional reasons which I'm sure you're all too well aware of. But I just wanted to let you know." He shifted position, immediately becoming more formal. "How's the information coming?"

Q sighed.

"It's hard. It's not like Stuart's laptop, it's not code. I'm actually feeling a little out of my depth." He cringed at the words, they tasted sour.

"What do we need?"

"An investigator of some sort. Someone who deals with people."

M stood up and nodded.

"I'll find someone, keep working on the fire thing."

He turned and left, thinking about the meeting he should have been in twenty minutes ago. His footsteps were the only warning Bond got, and he just managed to quickly slot himself into a cupboard and close the door when M walked past. When the corridor was clear Bond stepped out and looked at the testing room, where Q was now blowing things up again.

What was Q hiding from him? Who was this 'he'?


	4. Chapter Four

The next few days Bond couldn't think of anything apart from the conversation he'd overheard. He ran through everything Q had ever told him, but nothing made sense. There were no missing gaps. He only had two clues. The first was when Q had said that this person hadn't cared two years ago, or eighteen months ago. Q's sister had died a year and a half ago. So it was someone who knew about that, but Q had said that he didn't have any other family, both his parents had died when he was in his teens. Q never talked about his sister. All Bond knew was a name: Miranda. He didn't even know what she was sick with. There was no one else at the funeral, either. It also had to be someone higher up than M, because M said he'd reported to them when Q had thought Bond was dead. He vaguely remembered M calling someone when they were frantically driving to Q's house, that awful night of James's return, but M never said who the person was on the other end of the call. Bond couldn't even remember what M had said, he was too focused on getting to Q…

Bond shook his head, his thoughts going round in circles. He was no closer to the truth than he was when he first heard about this mysterious person. He desperately wanted to ask Q about it, but if Q hadn't told him already, then he obviously didn't want Bond to know. And it seemed like M only knew because whatever it was, was in Q's file. Bond didn't have that kind of clearance, and there was no point in asking M. So Bond held his tongue and kept an even closer eye on Q.

A week later he and Q were in Q's office having lunch when M knocked on the door and walked in. Q instantly gave him his full attention, pushing his food aside and opening his laptop.

"M, how can I help you?"

"I'm just letting you know that there's a person coming in to look at that information we got from the organisation. They'll be here at two, and we'll come down to your office and you can go through it with them. They're cleared by people higher up than me."

Q nodded and relaxed back into his chair again.

"Sure thing, 009's not due to land in Uganda until six, so R's perfectly capable taking the Unit until then. Anything else you need?"

M hesitated.

"No, just... We need this person to help us."

Q raised an eyebrow.

"I don't bite, M. It'll be fine."

M nodded.

"Good. Bond, walk me up?"

Bond stood and walked to M's office in silence, knowing that M would talk when he was ready. When they reached M's door, he finally turned around. Eve was out at lunch so the room was empty.

"Bond… Sit in on this meeting. I think Q's going to need you."

Bond frowned and his hand twitched towards his holster.

"Are we expecting any trouble? They'll have weapons taken from them when they enter the building."

"Not that kind of trouble. Just… be there."

Bond nodded and M walked into his office. Bond shook his head; even for MI6 this was a lot of secrets. And it was secrets surrounding Q's past and an unnamed man. Q would never cheat on him, he knew that, and his past list of lovers wasn't long. Even through Uni he was much too focused on his technological education rather than picking up men that Bond guessed would have leapt at the opportunity. So who was this person? What was going on? What did Q not trust him with? He sat down heavily on Eve's desk, and put his head in his hands, trying to calm himself.

"Bond?"

Eve walked in the door and hung her coat up. "Are you OK?"

Bond looked at her.

"Q's not telling me something. Something big that M knows. He's never done something like this before!"

Eve sighed and then crossed the room, putting her hand on Bond's shoulder. She seemed to make up her mind about something and sat at her computer, clicking away on a few of the keys before motioning for Bond to come around the desk. He did, and saw the security cameras from a month ago, the date of his mission to get the information. Silently Eve pressed play. Q-Unit was buzzing and Bond could hear Q's voice talking over the ear-piece.

"Run, 007, faster… Turn right into that doorway ahead of you, go downstairs, then left. No, left, Bond!"

Bond watched the rest of the scene play out. How Q got so tense when he thought Bond had been shot, and then visibly sagged when Bond talked to him again, and then that tiny quirk of his lips as Bond flirted in front of the minions. He heard the gunshots ring out, and he knew that the radio went dead.

"Tracker! Get his tracker now!"

The footage continued and Q tried desperately to get something, anything online. After 003 disembarked Q went to his office. Here, Eve opened up another tab, with another camera, this one above the inside of the door in Q's office. As she pressed play she excused herself and walked out of the room. Bond sat in her chair and watched Q walk in, close the door, and then collapse on his desk. He stayed there for hours, clutching at his hair, shaking as he tried to control himself. After a while he stood and walked out, and Bond switched the tabs again. Q waved R off and attached himself to 003's ear-piece. Minutes later, 003's words were projected across Q-Unit.

"It's… Oh shit, Q… I'm so sorry. It's, it's the eighth man and… Q, it's Bond. It's James."

Q fell to the ground, hitting his head and lay there before sobs finally choked him. R ran to him, trying to get him to sit up, but it was like Q couldn't even feel her. He began shaking violently and R backed off, obviously not wanting to make things worse. The minions stared, many of them with tears running down their faces, and Bond couldn't look away. He'd never seen Q in so much pain, not even when he woke up from his nightmares. He just looked… broken. Finally Eve walked into Q-Unit and got him into the office where she talked to him, telling him what 003 had found. Bond fast-forwarded through the next few days, watching Q lose weight, not sleep, not even move. He was just staring at his phone, and Bond knew exactly what he was waiting for.

Eventually Eve took Q away, to the apartment, Bond knew. He stopped the video just as Eve walked back in, and he looked at her, wanting to know why she made him watch that. She looked back pitifully.

"You two have been through so much together. Since Skyfall you're both everything to the other person. I don't know what's going on James, but Q would never lose faith in you. He'll tell you when you need to know."

Bond nodded and left the room, heading to the firing range. His mind settled on the questions that had been occupying him, the new sense of perspective relaxing him. Of course it was OK. Q would tell him when he needed to know. Q would always tell him.

At quarter to two he walked back to Q's office. Q was shifting files off his desk, removing what wasn't needed for the meeting in fifteen minutes time. Bond helped him pack them away in the various filing cabinets along one of the walls and then knelt down at the mini-fridge. He pulled out two glasses and poured both himself and Q a drink, pressing the glass into Q's hands. If M was nervous, then Bond certainly was. Something was going to happen, and Bond thought it best that everything at least started off relaxed. They both sat on the couch and Bond checked the door before leaning over and giving Q a light kiss.

"What was that for?" Q asked, smiling.

Bond winked.

"I didn't know I needed a reason, Quartermaster."

Q's smile stretched into a grin.

"I didn't say you needed one either."

Bond laughed and looked through Q's window, then sat up straight.

"They're here early."

Q got up too and walked back to the desk, straightening a file, as M and another man came in the door behind him. M closed the door.

"Sorry we're late, Q," M said and the second man looked around the room as if he was taking every little detail in. He was thin, and Bond noticed some recent bruising around his face. The first impression was that he was tall, but as Bond stood he realised that it was just the long coat and scarf that was wound around his neck. He had dark brown hair like Q, and he also seemed to have Q's cheekbones…

"That's fine, we were just-" Q turned around and froze. His glass shattered at his feet as it hit the ground. Bond's head whipped around, his hand already on his gun. Q was staring at the other man, his face a white mask of shock. He wasn't breathing. The other man looked back patiently, obviously not going to make the first move. After an agonising minute, Q inhaled, and then choked on his own breath. Bond started to move towards him, but M held up his hand, mouthing "Give him a minute." Bond nodded, but he was still on high alert. Who was this person to make Q have such a strong reaction? After Q could finally breathe again, his face changed. It slid through shock into suspicion, and then turned harder, and Bond could sense him closing himself off. Finally his eyes settled on fury.

"You."

The stranger moved.

"Me."

He had the same posh accent as Q, they were obviously from the same area.

"How… What…" Q spluttered again. Bond looked at him incredulously. The only time he'd seen Q lost for words was that night Bond came back from the dead. He looked at the new man again, and this time some sort of recognition stirred in the back of his brain.

"No," Bond said and the stranger looked at him, analysing him. "You died two years ago, it was all over the news."

"Well, obviously I didn't." The stranger brushed Bond off, as if he classified him as something not worth his time. He turned back to Q. "Well, are you going to say anything?"

As if in a trance Q stepped over the broken glass and walked to the stranger. Bond watched as Q lifted his hand and gently laid it on the stranger's cheek. The stranger didn't move.

"You're alive?" Q voice trembled and he couldn't get it louder than a whisper. Bond didn't know what to do. How could these two know each other? Why was Q touching him? A pang of jealousy forced its way up Bond's throat and he quashed it quickly, before Q saw. "You're alive." Q's voice took on a sudden knowing tone, as if he were understanding some code, like something clicked in his brain. He still had his hand on the other man's cheek.

"Are you quite done? I believe there's actual work I'm here for." The stranger snapped, and pulled his face away from Q's hand, as if he didn't understand why Q was so affected. Bond saw Q's back stiffen, and that was the stranger's only warning. In a second Q was on him, delivering punch after punch, to his face, his stomach, until the other man was on the ground. The whole time he was screaming at him:

"How dare you! How dare you go! And then you come back, like nothing's happened? Like nothing-"

Bond leapt forward and grabbed Q around the waist, easily lifting him off the other person, who was helped to his feet by M, sporting a bloody nose, and a few new bruises to add to his collection. Q was shaking again as he vainly fought Bond's grip, and a few tears had escaped onto his cheeks.

"Q, calm down," he whispered in his ear.

"No! I will not calm down James!"

"Quartermaster." This time it was M and Q looked up, fighting for a second longer before he went limp in Bond's arms. Bond continued holding him, pressing him gently to his chest, glaring at the stranger.

"Bond, meet Sherlock Holmes. Mr Holmes, James Bond, one of our top operatives."

"Yes I know," Sherlock said, in a bored tone. "Otherwise known as 007, he used to be your most reckless agent in the field. But almost two years ago now something changed, something that calmed him down. I take it by the way he's holding Jasper that the change came through the beginning of their relationship, which surprisingly has only grown stronger since. I'm surprised Jaz, we both know that you were never one to settle down, even if you did bother to spend more time around people than us two."

Bond tensed as Sherlock used Q's name, his real name. Only he and M knew that information. It was as highly classified as the best secrets of the agency. And how did he know about Bond and Q' relationship? Who was this man? Q glared at him.

"Don't use that name here." His voice rippled with anger. "I'm not that person anymore. Legally, psychologically, I am someone else. Someone you don't know."

"Ah, but biologically it's all still the same. That doesn't change, Q." Sherlock's tone was bored. He didn't think this was necessary.

"Biologically?" Bond thought. "… No."

Q shrugged out of Bond's grip and stood by himself. Bond could see himself force a deep breath down his throat and he wiped his eyes beneath his glasses. He then straightened his shoulders and looked Sherlock square in the eyes.

"Two years."

Sherlock looked back calmly, knowing Q wouldn't hit him again.

"Where's John, Sherlock?"

Something crossed Sherlock's face, breaking through the calm exterior.

"He doesn't know. Yet."

"And you didn't give him the slightest clue, the tiniest bit of hope."

"Not in the circumstances, no."

Q leant back against his desk, ignoring the pile of glass.

"So who knew?"

"Molly Hooper, my homeless network, and-"

The door opened and another man walked in.

"Me."

Bond looked at the newcomer. He was older than Q and Sherlock, closer to Bond's age. He had short hair, and was wearing an expensive suit. As he surveyed the broken glass on the floor he leant on the umbrella in his hand. Finally he looked at Q.

"Hello." Again, the same clipped tones as Q and Sherlock.

"You. Knew."

Q was back to furious, hatred lighting up his eyes, his cheeks burning.

"It was necessary."

"Necessary!"

Q whipped around and grabbed Bond, opening his jacket and pulling his gun from its holster before Bond even recognised what was going on. Q stepped back and levelled it at the new man. Sherlock didn't move, and the other man seemed almost not to notice it. Q looked at M.

"I'll work with Sherlock, although we're going to have a fucking long conversation about this! But not him, not you, Mycroft! You knew! You knew about everything and you didn't care! You deliberately kept me in the dark, even after Miri…! How could you? How could you even think for a second that this was the right thing to do?!"

Bond carefully put his hand on Q's shoulder.

"Q, can I have my gun back please?"

"No."

"Q-"

"No! James…" Q seemed to forget about the other men in the room as he turned around, placing the gun on the table. "Sherlock and Mycroft are biologically" he sent a scathing look at Sherlock "my brothers."

Bond, to his credit, didn't even look shocked. He supposed he'd figured it out minutes ago, the family resemblance was too strong.

"Sherlock died. He jumped from the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital in front of his best friend, John Watson two years ago, because a psychopath was trying to destroy him. Mycroft knew. He knew what Moriarty was doing and he had him in prison and he let him out." Q turned on Mycroft. "You set him on Sherlock! You made this happen! And then you didn't even tell me!"

Mycroft sighed.

"Q, I followed your wishes to the letter. I never contacted you, and I stayed out of MI6. I knew it would only be a matter of time before Sherlock joined us in London."

"What happened to Miri?" That was Sherlock, his eyes darting about the room. "You wouldn't decorate your office, Q, but there's not even photos of her. Where is she?"

Mycroft started talking, but Q interrupted him.

"Six months, Sherlock. Six. Fucking. Months, after you died. She couldn't… She couldn't handle it anymore." Q's eyes glazed over. "She jumped, too."

Bond pieced it together in his head. Miri was Miranda, Q's sister. Sherlock and Mycroft's sister. Half a year after Sherlock had supposedly died, Miranda had committed suicide, too. His memory flashed back to when he'd found Q in his office, the night it happened. No wonder he was a wreck…

Sherlock's blink was his only reaction.

"When did you stop visiting her?" He asked, his eyes flaring. Q gaped for a moment before going for the gun again, but Bond beat him there, snatching it from the table and putting it back in its holster, safely out of reach. "I know you're accustomed to violence now, but you wouldn't hurt me so stop using empty threats, Quartermaster."

"I couldn't, Sherlock! She might've been a target, and-" Q broke off, looking at the ground. Bond had never seen him look so young.

"So you just left her?"

Q's eyes flashed again and he looked Sherlock square in the face.

"You left, too."

The words hung in the room. Sherlock couldn't contradict them, he knew it was true. Mycroft was eyeing Bond, who was looking at Q, ready to catch him in case he fell. M was the only one who looked disinterested in the conversation, Bond guessed that family reunions weren't his strong point. Finally, M talked.

"There is a matter of national security at hand here…"

The silence broken, Q turned to his desk and handed the files to Sherlock, who flicked through them quickly.

"I'll look over these tonight and get back to you in the morning. I need to get to Baker Street and change." Sherlock looked over at Mycroft. "I presume you can drive me?"

Mycroft nodded and Sherlock walked out the door. Q glared at his oldest brother.

"I am sorry, if that means anything Q."

"Just. Leave."

Mycroft followed Sherlock. M looked down at the smashed glass.

"I'll get someone to clean that up. I think you can have an early mark today, Quartermaster. See you tomorrow."

When Bond and Q were finally alone together, Q turned to him, already flinching.

"James, I-"

Bond hugged Q quickly, comforting him before they had to walk through Q-unit.

"No, don't. Not now. Let's just get home."

Q nodded and grabbed his coat. It had been a long day.


	5. Chapter Five

Q opened the bathroom cupboard quietly, unconsciously looking over his shoulder, listening for any sign of Bond waking up. He gazed at the contents and carefully picked out the nail scissors, his heart beating faster already. He twirled them around his finger for a moment, letting the cool metal circle on his skin. He then caught them in his palm and let his thoughts run over his mind, releasing the floodgates and drowning in memories. Sherlock, alive, and seeing straight through his pathetic attempts of clearing his name from Miri's death. Mycroft, walking in and daring to apologise… The last thing Miri had ever said, that she'd hated him, that he didn't love her because he'd stopped calling her. He closed his hand tightly around the scissors and began to feel them cut into his palm. He stopped when the stinging intensified and flicked them over his hand, bringing the points to the top of his wrist. No one but Bond and M had ever asked what the mass of scar tissue there was from, and Q had given them the same answer: that he'd fallen out of a tree when he was six years old. He always focused on that precise spot, because he could easily cover it, with his work-shirt, his coat, and his watch. The scissors dug along his wrist line, and he kept it carefully within the tan-line of his watch, and only hard enough to make it hurt, not enough to draw blood. Any new cuts would be found immediately by Bond, and would lead to an interrogation that would call for subjects Q never wanted to talk about. Really, as long as he was cautious, it was almost ironic how easy it was to keep a secret at MI6. All you needed to do was detach yourself, and people forgot that you had emotions. That when you lost an agent, you broke down as soon as you got home, but you can't in front of the whole Unit. The exception being when Bond had died, but that was different. Bond was different.

Falling in love was not on Q's agenda. Falling in love with a reckless double 0 wasn't even a possibility, or so he'd thought. But Skyfall changed things. Not only his job title, but also how he thought about work; he'd realised how important his job really is. He owed Bond so much, so much time and effort and love, which is why Q could never tell him about this. About the scissors in the bathroom cupboard and the scars under his watch. He'd never understand. It's not an act of self-hatred, or even a cry for help, or attention. It's simply something which he was 100% in control. It was a way to release tension, just like how Bond used alcohol for so long. It helped him sleep.

He'd started when his parents had died, he was a teenager. Mycroft did his best with him and Miri, even Sherlock tried to be more responsible, but it was never going to be the same. It continued at University, where he found out that he was the only one completely focused on education. He'd felt so alone, and threw himself further and further into his studies. There were a few years where Q had felt OK, that things were going well. When he finally started getting access to the codes which really tried out his brain he'd loved every part of life and he tired himself out so much during the day he was coming home and collapsing in bed. When Sherlock died, after Skyfall, things had gotten much harder. Miri was getting worse and worse and Q couldn't talk to her as much anymore. They'd just had a massive break-in to the headquarters of the MI6, who knows what phone-lines were being tapped, who was getting followed home on the tube? He'd barely talked to her for months before she'd finally called, in tears, telling him that he was nothing to her, because she was nothing to him.

He'd driven so fast, but didn't get there in time.

Since Bond had moved in, everything had been going well. Even if Q had a rough day at work, Bond could always find a way to cheer him up, make him feel in control, even if it was only allowing him to make the decision of which take-away they were going to eat at that night. It meant the world to Q. And after Markusi Q had flinched at even the thought of causing himself more pain. After everything they'd done, Q couldn't even handle scissors without shaking for months. But he'd worked through it, with Bond always supporting him.

But it had been a bad day. Sherlock was alive, but knew that it was his fault Miri died. Mycroft was still lording it over everyone, and worst of all, Bond knew. Bond had found out everything. The car trip home was silent, and neither of them were hungry. They'd showered and fallen into bed, barely saying good night before they were both asleep. Q had woken up thirty minutes before the alarm, and had snuck out of bed, and headed towards the bathroom. He couldn't start a day this wound up, he wouldn't be able to get through anything.

As his thoughts wondered he pressed down just too much on the scissors and he felt the blades slip underneath his skin. He swore in his head and turned the tap on, wiping away the drops of blood on his wrist and on the metal. He heard the bed groan as Bond got up in the next room. Quickly, Q strapped his watch on and was trimming his fingernails as Bond opened the door.

"Morning," Bond said, wrapping his arms around Q's waist. Q leant back into him, closing his eyes.

"Morning."

"How long have you been up?"

"Not even long enough to put the kettle on. Coffee?" Q tried to shuffle underneath Bond's arms, but Bond only tightened his hold.

"Not yet. Do you want to talk before work?"

Q sighed and Bond released him.

"Alright then."

They both walked over to the bed and Q sat down, cross-legged, playing with his pillow-case.

"Sherlock's five years older than me, and Mycroft's seven years older than that. Miranda was my twin. As you know, my parents died in a car crash when Miri and I were fourteen. Our brothers did their best, but they're not social people, so Miri and I raised ourselves. After Skyfall I began to cut down on talking to Miri, she always battled with depression, but I thought the risk of her being traced to me was higher than the risk to herself. I was wrong. Sherlock died six months after Skyfall, and Miri went six months after that. I'm sure you read all the stories about Moriarty, but no one knew that Mycroft, who's pretty much the British government, had Moriarty in a cell. A cell which had Sherlock's name carved into it a hundred times. Moriarty was obsessed, and Mycroft let him go. As you saw yesterday, Mycroft also didn't bother to tell me that Sherlock was alive." Q took a deep breath. "I'm sorry you had to be there for that. You know I usually don't leap to violence, even when I'm upset."

Bond reached out and tugged at Q's arm until Q lay in his lap. Bond massaged Q's head, running his hands through Q's hair, and he felt Q sag against him.

"Firstly, don't ever apologise for your reaction to something, especially something as big as that. Hearing that story, I wouldn't have been surprised if you had fired." He felt Q huff against his leg. "Now, I do appreciate you telling me about your childhood, and filling in these bits that I didn't know, but that's not what I wanted to talk about right now."

"What is it, then?"

"I want to know why you didn't tell me. Sherlock I can understand, because we didn't really know each other at the time. And I knew a bit about your sister, although it really was the bare minimum… But even after we moved in together, Q? You didn't think that I would want to know something so important, so vital?"

Q thought about it for a few moments, registering what Bond was really saying.

"Are you upset that I didn't tell you, or are you upset because M knew and you didn't?"

Bond pulled back, making Q sit up.

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare suggest this is anything about that at all, Q! This is entirely about you, and the bits of you that I had no clue about. I don't care what M knows, and when I had that run-in a month ago, I'm glad M did know! Otherwise he mightn't have pieced everything together so quickly. It is only the fact that you didn't tell me something big, and I want to know why?"

Q looked at him warily, biting his lip for a tense moment.

"Ok, I'm sorry. I guess I'm not too happy with M at the moment, either." Q let out a big sigh. "I guess I didn't tell you because it felt too big. I didn't know where to start. And also… Talking about it… It means it's real. It was so much easier to live with no family after Miri. I don't share the same name as any of them obviously, but I all but disowned Mycroft. I'm not actually surprised he got M to keep tabs on me, I knew he wouldn't be able to completely step out of my life. And I was so angry at Sherlock… I always wonder if he hadn't done his little stunt, if Miri wouldn't have…"

Bond pulled Q in again and lay them both down. They were quiet while Q's breathing returned to normal, steadying himself against the timing of Bond's heart.

"I am sorry, though. But please believe me James, that it wasn't a matter of trust or confidence, I just simply didn't want to relive it."

"It's OK."

Q rolled over, facing him, reading his expression.

"No. It's not."

Q rolled off the bed and disappeared into another part of the house. Bond could hear him rummaging around in the study, and then his returning footsteps. When he entered the room, Q stood near Bond's side of the bed and waited for Bond to sit up. He was holding a massive folder that had a red outline on an otherwise blank cover. It was the mark of the highest security code in MI6. Q held it towards Bond, who just stared at it.

"Take it," Q said, waving it a little.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No, Q, I don't have clearance, I can't see whatever's in that file, and you could get fired for showing me."

Q sighed and dropped it in Bond's lap.

"No, I won't. I'm not showing you missile launch codes, James, honestly. This is my file. It's not on any computers, so it can never be hacked into. This is the only copy of it in the world, and M and I decided that here was much safer, and less suspicious, than MI6. Because it's my information, I can give it to whomever I like. You'll be the fourth person to read this, myself, the old M, and the current M being the only other three. Take your time, I'm going to go put the kettle on."

Q leant down and kissed Bond on the cheek before walking out of the room. Bond watched him go, incredulous, before looking down at the paper in front of him. This was the story of Q's life. It would have everything from his parent's marriage certificate to his birth certificate, all his reports and comments through school, every assignment handed in, every grade he'd received, all the people he'd ever met in his life, information on his brothers, his sister… The document stating he and Q were in a relationship, everything, even all the psychologist's notes from his whole time at MI6… Bond had never seen a greater sign of trust, or responsibility. With a steady and loving hand, he opened it to the first page and began to read.


	6. Chapter Six

Q kept his back straight as he walked out the door and into the kitchen, only allowing himself to slump when he was leaning over the kettle. His heart was pounding in his ears and the room was spinning slightly. Had he done the right thing? Or had he just made a huge mistake? He knew every word in that file. The teacher's reports, which turned from the usual comments to slight disgust as Q went through his smart-ass years, to glowing feedback in University, with comments attached to job offers, even though that wasn't strictly legal, were not to be worried about. Some of the psychologist's notes were cringe-worthy, but Bond knew most thoughts that crossed Q's mind to do with Markusi, he'd been an integral part of Q's healing process, so there was nothing to worry about there, either. There were only a few documents that Q deliberately hadn't told Bond, or that he hadn't found out about in the past twenty-four hours.

The real worry was the reports from Q's high school when they discovered his self-harm. There had been a huge discussion where Mycroft and Sherlock were both bought in (it never really was decided who was Q and Miranda's legal guardian) and Q was made to leave school and take a holiday. The school had been so horrified to find that one of their students could act this way that there was even talk of expelling him, but the combined efforts of his older brothers stopped that train of thought; they really were terrifying when they worked together. The second report of it was after he'd returned from the break, which was mostly just him in his room at his computer, hacking into the school's security cameras so he could listen in on lessons. This one was worse, as he'd been found by a student rather than a teacher, and so the rest of the school soon found out. Q had never kept to his room more.

The third time, and the last time as far as that school was concerned, was almost general knowledge. The school tried to get Q into counselling, finally, but there was less than a term until he was graduating and they decided not to push it. Sherlock and Mycroft were involved each time, but because Miri was falling faster into her destructive habits than Q was, he always seemed to take the back-seat in even those great minds. All this was apparent from the reports, the minutes from the meetings with his brothers, and their correspondence with the school, trying desperately to keep Q involved. Bond didn't know about any of this, of course. Q thought of what he was going to say. Would he hate him, knowing his weakness? Would he not want to see him anymore, want to break up and move out? Bond hated weakness in himself, when he was abusing alcohol he'd lowered himself into that pit of self-loathing with every sip and it almost destroyed him. Q heard shuffling in the bedroom, and his heart sped up even more as be broke out in a cold sweat. He couldn't leave.

He wouldn't, would he?

"Don't, please don't go, James," Q muttered as he heard his partner's footsteps echo down the hall. As he saw Bond appear around the corner the tension overwhelmed him and Q staggered. He tried to catch the bench-top to steady himself, but missed, and he hit the floor hard.

Bond read through the file quickly, skimming over what he knew, delving into the files he didn't. When he reached the reports of self-harm through Q's high school years he had to pause. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't surprised. A child couldn't go unchanged through both parent's deaths, he knew from personal experience, and Miranda frequently blamed Q for her own strong emotions, holding her other brothers in regards equal to gods. Bond's heart twinged when he read how abysmally the school had dealt with it. He flicked through the rest, most of it was what he already knew. There was some more information about his brothers, including Sherlock's death and Mycroft's estrangement. By the time he had reached the part about himself, he wasn't expecting any more surprises, but there was one more. He was just scanning the last psychologist's notes when he noticed his name in the transcript:

Q: James.

Dr Munn: OK. Anyone else?

Q: There doesn't need to be.

Dr Munn: Have you ever thought that maybe James's job is impacting on your relationship?

Q: No.

Dr Munn: The long hours, the danger? It doesn't change any aspect of you two?

Q: It doesn't change anything, it defines it. I'm as committed to my job as I am to James, and I know he feels the same way. Our jobs are part of our relationship. We don't work around them, we work with them. It's all part of who we are.

Dr Munn: Is there anything you've never told him?

Q: Yes. But everyone has their secrets.

Dr Munn: Is it something I know?

Q: No.

Dr Munn: Is it something you're planning on telling either of us?

Q: Unless the situation absolutely calls for it, there's no point.

Dr Munn: I know you know that M said if I see certain symptoms I have to alert him. You're not showing any signs of stress which is the only reason I'm not pushing this. But don't you think that whatever it is, James would be upset that he doesn't know?

Q: James trusts me. And although he doesn't understand some of my decisions, just as I don't understand some of his, he trusts me to make the correct ones.

Dr Munn: And you feel like this is one of those correct ones?

Q: Of course. If you'll excuse me, our hour's up, and an agent's mission is due to commence in twelve minutes.

Dr Munn: See you on Wednesday, Q. I hope all goes well for the mission.

That transcript ended, as did the file. This was less than a week ago. Bond couldn't imagine the amount of information Q would have to add to it soon, what with his brother's return and all. He thought about everything he'd read, his mind mostly staying on the self-harm reports. The way he saw it, it was just another part of Q, and a part that was in the past. They would talk, because Bond knew Q would need the reassurance, but it didn't need an inquiry. His stomach rumbled as he got out of bed and changed into his work clothes, and he quickly made his way to the kitchen. But as he walked down he realised that he'd never heard the sound of Q pouring his tea, and there was definitely no coffee smell in the air. He hurried his steps and rounded the corner, seeing Q with a look of pure terror on his face for the split second before he crashed to the floor. Bond ran to him and picked him up easily, carrying him to the couch.

"Q? Q, talk to me!"

Q's eyelids fluttered closed and he murmured something so quietly that Bond had to lean in to catch it.

"I didn't make you coffee, because I didn't know if you were staying."

Bond looked at his lover's face and his expression softened. He bent down and kissed Q's forehead, his cheek, his lips. After a minute Q opened his eyes again, and colour started bringing his face to its normal shade.

"Why on earth would you think that I would be going anywhere?" Bond asked, still surprised at the dramatic reaction.

"Because you hate weakness," Q said, not able to look Bond in the eye.

"Is this about the stuff at high school? Q, it's not a weakness, it's just another part of you. And it's in the past, it's done, it's fine. If I'm staying even though you hid two brothers from me, I'm definitely not going because of something like that. I love you, remember? And I trust you. With my life."

Q looked at him, trying to tell if he was telling the truth.

"The only thing I'm angry about is how the school dealt with it, it's appalling and I'm sorry that you didn't get the support you needed at the time."

Bond hugged Q closer, holding him, comforting him with his body's warmth. Q looped an arm around Bond's back and pulled him closer.

"I am sorry, though."

"You shouldn't be."

They stayed together until Q's phone rang. He sighed and got up, crossing to the kitchen table and picking it up.

"Hello? Oh, hi… You're in my office? No, I'm still at home… Yes, I'm leaving now… No, don't! Tell him I don't need a lift to work, for God's sake, I'll get there how I always do… Yes, that's with James… No one's making you, Sherlock! Fine, I'll see you soon."

Q hung up the phone and turned to face Bond, looking annoyed.

"I had seriously forgotten how infuriating he is. You ready to go?"

"You need breakfast."

"I'll eat in the car."


	7. Chapter Seven

The heat hit them the moment they walked into MI6. Q immediately stripped off his coat, and his cardigan, and stopped one of his minions in the lobby.

"David, what is going on?"

"The heat's broken, sir. They're trying to fix it now. We're running fans down in the Unit, to keep the equipment cool."

"Right, thank you."

David ran off in the direction of Maintenance, presumably to get more fans. Q and Bond moved towards Q-Unit, the heat intensifying the further into the building they got. By the time they'd reached Q's office, Bond had taken off his coat, his jacket, and his tie, and had opened up the top buttons of his shirt. Q was down to his shirt as well, and was rolling up the sleeves as they walked through the door.

Sherlock was on Q's couch, resting his chin on his arched fingertips, not looking up as they came in the door. Bond looked at him curiously, there were bruises on his face which were more recent than the ones Q had given him yesterday, and he seemed to not even recognise someone had entered the room.

"He's in his Mind Palace," Q said as he dumped his bag on the ground.

"Mind Palace?"

"It's a memory-storage system. Sherlock's head works like a computer. He's found a way to store unlimited information in there, in his Mind Palace. He gets lost trying to find information, though, so he zones out a bit. Don't touch him, he'll wake up soon. And when he does, he'll have figured out who's behind all this." Q sat down at his desk and opened his computer before leaning down and pressing his forehead to the keys. "Oh James, it's so hot in here."

Bond undid another button on his shirt, sighed, and undid the rest.

"They'll fix it soon… I take it you can't hack into the central heating system?"

"No, but I'm certainly going to redesign it so I can."

Bond opened the fridge door and poured them both a drink of cold water, Q accepted his gratefully. Just as he pressed the glass to his lips, his phone buzzed. Q glanced at the screen before heaving a huge sigh. Bond raised an eyebrow.

"It's Eve, Mycroft's on his way down."

He fired back a quick thank you message and smoothed his already-ruffled shirt.

"Do you want me to leave?" Bond was still trying to figure out the protocol with Q's brothers, they were so different from anyone he'd ever met. The analysis Sherlock had given him yesterday was chilling.

"Are you kidding? This is a work matter, you're staying no matter what happens. If there's a security clearance issue, I'll take care of it."

Bond nodded and sat down next to Sherlock on the couch, careful not to jostle him. A minute later Mycroft walked through the door.

"Oh good, you've arrived. Sherlock's been here for five hours, I believe he called you this morning?"

"Yes," Q answered sullenly. It was obvious that Mycroft was still going to be an issue.

"Have you eaten?"

"Shut up, Mycroft."

"He ate in the car," Bond offered, and then flinched internally at Q's withering glare. He was going to pay for that later.

"I'm glad someone's allowed to keep tabs on him. Which reminds me. We've got a little time before Sherlock resurfaces, so, let's talk." He walked over to the chair on the opposite side of Q's desk and sat in it, looking confident. "How's psychology?"

"Piss off."

Bond made a mental note to tell Q that he was incredibly sexy when he was angry. He also leaned over and shut the office door. This might get loud.

"Q, we've not talked for two years. Something must have happened. You moved apartments?"

"For God's sake, Mycroft. Just read my file, why don't you?"

"It's in your bedroom at the moment, so I can't."

There was a pause.

"You're bugging our house?" Mycroft opened his mouth but Q wasn't done. "You are bugging our house?! That's our home, Mycroft! That's the one place where we don't have to worry about spies and secrets and all that hidden stuff here! And you infiltrated it! Without me knowing?"

"That's not true." Sherlock looked up and stretched. His voice was rough and he winced as he touched his nose.

"What?" Q said, not even asking about his brother's colourful face.

"He might have read your file this morning, but you haven't told him. You haven't told anyone. And you're careful, you always were, Q. You even managed to slip it past Mycroft and I occasionally, if we were very busy."

Mycroft looked from Sherlock to Q.

"What on earth are you talking...? Oh." Understanding flooded him, quickly followed by disapproval. "Q, really? We've talked about this."

Q was frozen in his chair, his face white. Bond looked at the brothers, who were both looking like disappointed parents.

"What's going on?" He asked, the whole situation going over his head.

"Don't." Q said, not looking away from Sherlock.

"Q, I thought you might at least find someone intelligent. You can't guess, Bond?" Sherlock said scathingly. Bond ignored the slight.

"No. What's going on?"

"Please Sherlock, don't." Q was whispering. Bond got up and walked around the desk, putting his hand on Q's shoulder. Q flinched at the contact and Bond drew back in surprise. It had been months since Q had a negative reaction to physical contact. What was happening?

"How many screens does Q have around him at any point in time? In any room? Have you ever seen him without his phone? No. Q has the highest ranking technological job in the world, of course he would never be without his precious equipment. So, this just begs one question to be asked."

"And what's that?"

"Sherlock, shut up! Shut up now! You left and she left and Mycroft was nothing, and you can't come back here and screw everything up! Don't!"

Sherlock ignored him, staring at Bond, his eyes piercing him.

"Why does he have to wear a watch?"

To Q's intense surprise, Bond laughed, albeit nervously.

"Because it's normal? Because he wants to? Because I bought that particular one for him when I was in Shanghai a while ago? Does there need to be a specific reason?"

Sherlock and Mycroft rolled their eyes, almost in unison. Then Sherlock leapt off the couch, the same time as Mycroft rolled his chair to the side. Sherlock reached for Q's wrist and almost got it before he was slammed into the ground. His vision swam for a second, and when it focused he was looking down the barrel of a Walther. The owner of it looked pissed, and had Q behind his back.

"Brothers or not, no one touches Q without his permission, do you understand?" Bond took a step back so he could keep Mycroft in his vision as well. "Do you understand," he asked them both. After a second they both nodded and Bond put his gun back inside his jacket and turned around to face Q. He cupped his gorgeous face in his calloused hands. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"No."

"Is there anything you would rather I knew without you telling me?"

There was a pause.

"Yes," Q whispered.

"Ok, good. I'm going to pick you at up nine this evening, unless someone screws up during the day, and I'll drop you home. Then I'll go out and get dinner. You following me?"

"Yes."

"Just like last time, alright, Q?"

Q nodded.

"Just like last time."

Bond bent down and pressed his lips against Q's, who immediately relaxed underneath them.

"I have to go help 003 with his training exercise, some of the new recruits need a little more scaring than usual. I'll see you at lunch. I'll have my earpiece in, though, if you need anything."

Bond nodded at the two elder Holmes brothers and walked out the door, shutting it behind him. Sherlock picked himself up off the ground, and collapsed back into the sofa again.

"Well, nice to know you've got protection, little brother," he said, smirking.

"James has been particularly… focused for the past six months,"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Q looked at Mycroft who answered Sherlock's unasked question.

"Jasper was kidnapped from his own home six months ago, and held at a remote island and tortured for a fortnight. The organisation that you're looking into for them is tied to the people who took him."

Sherlock looked Q up and down.

"Grafting," Q said. "There are no scars."

"I take it that whoever was responsible-"

"James took care of the immediate people, I can assure you. But there was a boss. It was organised."

"Mycroft, have you looked over the file?"

"Last night, I presume you came to the same conclusion I did."

"Precisely," Sherlock said, standing up. "Case closed. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find John again. Apparently I have some things to make up for." He made for the door.

"No, wait a minute! Case closed?" Q couldn't believe it, he'd been tracking this organisation for half a year and his brothers waltzed in and deciphered everything in a night? If that didn't sum up his childhood, he didn't know what did… Sherlock ignored him and walked out of the office. Mycroft sighed dramatically.

"It was Moriarty. It's got his fingerprints all over it. Sherlock spent the past two years disarming what he could of Moriarty's spy network, but there was a mass weapons trading scheme that slipped through our fingers. I'm sorry that we couldn't get them before they got you. I can assure you that the rest of the organisation has been taken down and I'll deliver the related paperwork to M. We should have dinner soon, the three of us and your Bond. Good luck tonight."

And with that, Mycroft left the room. Q gazed at the open door before his computer pinged with an incoming email. He read it quickly.

"R," he called out of the office door. She appeared immediately, tablet in hand. "Bond and 003 have somehow set fire to the training room. It might be a good opportunity to test those fire repellents we've been working on."

She nodded curtly and sprang into action as Q cracked his neck and got to work.


	8. Chapter Eight

A couple of hours later, Bond and Q had both collapsed on Q's couch, both slightly singed, and laughing hysterically. Tears streamed down Q's cheeks as he held his sides, trying to take a breath.

"Did you see M's face?" Bond managed to say and Q rolled onto the floor, unable to sit up straight anymore. Without knocking, R opened the door, took one look at both of them and closed the door again. Q was obviously overtired and needed to rest. The slight interruption only made them both laugh harder, and Bond reached over to the fridge to get himself a drink. Q took advantage of Bond's arm being stretched out and pounced on him off the floor, leaping into his chest and pushing him back against the couch. The second it took for Bond to restrain himself from his training was the only second Q needed to lean down and snog Bond, a quick kiss turning into Q sucking on the Bond's lower lip. Bond groaned and grabbed Q's thighs before lifting him off his lap, and distributing him onto his desk. Q tightened his legs on Bond and closed the small gap between them. Bond's fingers worked his way down Q's shirt, sliding through the buttons. The timing was immaculate, as soon as Bond's hands actually touched Q's skin, Q's work mobile, personal mobile, and the phone on his desk all started ringing, and his email went haywire.

"What?" Q muttered, before leaning back on his desk to reach for the nearest phone. He kept his legs wrapped around Bond though, forcing him to lean forward with him. Q bought his desk phone to his ear.

"Hello, Q speaking." There was a moment's pause before Q went off on such a roll of swear words even Bond got lost. After a minute, and many threats later, Q slammed the phone down, the fire in his eyes completely changed as he disentangled himself.

"What's happening?" Bond asked, wary.

"Mycroft is fucking bugging my office! That was him, telling me to remain professional whilst at work, the arsehole!"

Bond reached out and grabbed Q's waist, bringing his face up to his again.

"You know how I do love it when you remain professional, Quartermaster," he whispered, using his best sensual tone. Q kissed him thoroughly but as soon as he put his hand under Bond's shirt, the phones started ringing again.

"If you'll excuse me for one moment, my dear," Q said acidly before sitting down at his desk and opening up a new program. It took him under a minute to find the five miniscule cameras hidden in the room, and half that time to step on each of them. When he was done, Bond held out his arms again, but Q motioned for him to wait. A moment later his phone rang for a third time, and Q quickly plugged in an extra cord before picking it up.

"Hello?" He said, in a voice suited to a shop teller. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he listened with feigned patience. "Well Mycroft, if you didn't want your cameras to be destroyed, you shouldn't have put them in my room. Now if you'll be the best brother that you are, you're going to hang up now and not do that again." Q waited, presumably listening. "No? Ok then." He hit a button on the computer and hung up the phone at the same time. He waited for ten seconds before relaxing in his chair and allowing himself a satisfied smile. "Well, he won't be calling again."

"What did you do?" Bond said, as he circled the desk, running his fingers through Q's hair.

"I shut down his mobile. He's either going to have to buy a new one, which he won't, or he'll have to apologise to me and I'll fix it."

Bond laughed as he kissed Q's forehead.

"You're a genius."

Q looked up so he could kiss Bond properly.

"Oh, I know. Now, where were we? Ah, that's right… I was being professional."

After Bond left, Q started feeling nervous. The slight revenge on his oldest brother wasn't nearly enough to stop him thinking about the promised events with Bond that evening. Whenever something came up in Q's psychology meetings that he didn't want to tell Bond, Bond would leave the house and Q would write him a note. When it was done, Q would leave it on the kitchen table and Bond would read it when Q was out of the room. It was a roundabout way of sharing information, but it meant that Q could write exactly what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it, rather than tumbling over his words if he told Bond face to face. He was still trying to think of how he'd word it.

"Dear James,

It's not serious…"

"Dear James,

It's not why you think…"

"Dear James,

My brothers can be real dicks sometimes, and this is one of those times…"

Throughout the afternoon and evening different arguments and promises ran across Q's mind, each sounding much worse than the last. Finally, when he was seated at the kitchen table and Bond had gone out to get dinner, he decided how he was going to begin.

"Dearest James,

Sometimes I can't sleep…"

Bond opened the door quietly, and heard the sound of the shower running. He put the food on the table before picking up the letter. He unfolded it and started to read.

"Dearest James,

Sometimes I can't sleep.

And I don't mean I can't wind my mind down, or I get that awful insomnia that sometimes hangs around you, I just mean that I lie down sometimes, and I just know that I won't sleep. It's always been like that, ever since my parents died. I've never told you about that, have I? Or about Miranda, or even Sherlock and Mycroft. Mostly because, for the past two years, I've done my best to make sure that none of them were real. But it seems like that particular past is coming back to haunt me, and goodness knows you deserve the truth, the whole truth, and not just some words in my file.

My parents were driving Miri to school. That was it. There were no crazy drunk drivers, no one micro sleeping at the wheel, just the plain old rain, a corner, and the knowledge that this would have been the fifth time Miri was late to class in a row. I was already at school, pretending to listen to some god awful teacher about the volcanic movements in the Pacific Ocean. I was actually reprogramming the school's database, it was always so slow to access information. A messenger entered the room, and everyone sat up, begging for it to be for them, so they could get out of the boredom that is high school. I begged too.  
I wish I hadn't.  
Both Sherlock and Mycroft were waiting for me in the foyer, and I knew something was wrong because the two of them weren't fighting for once. I jumped in Mycroft's car and as we drove to the hospital they told me what had happened. Our parents were dead, and my twin sister wasn't waking up.

I promise that whenever you ask, James, I'll tell you a story about them. My parents, or my sister, or my brothers, even, although their stories are usually a lot more boring. But for the life of me, I can't remember any right now. Isn't that odd?

It took Miri a month to wake up, and all the physical test results came back perfect, to everyone's astonishment. She'd healed well, she always did. But it didn't take long for me to notice that something wasn't right. She began shutting herself in her room for days on end, only eating when someone forced the door down. She lost all her friends at school, and then she stopped going to school. Mycroft and Sherlock were horrified; education was to be held in the highest respect and here was their little sister, throwing it away, after she very nearly lost her life. They didn't understand, of course, they don't get people. Miri didn't see it as a chance, or an opportunity. She'd solidified one thought in her mind, and that was that if she had died, Mum and Dad would've lived.

As you can imagine things got worse and worse from there, for all of us. You've read my school reports, you know how I reacted. Mycroft and Sherlock disassociated themselves. They loved Miri more than no one but me, but it was almost like every time they took her to the hospital, they were taking a stranger. When they talked about her, they always shared stories from before the accident, like she'd died as well. In a way, that was even harder to listen to than Miri begging us to just leave her alone.

Years passed and we all grew up. Mycroft is now pretty much the British government, and Sherlock's finally famous enough for his ego, with his consulting detective job. There's me, Q, and there was Miri, who got a shift at a local store every now and again. She couldn't work, which was the worst thing for her. She was so bright, James, so intelligent, she could've been anything she wanted, but because she stopped going to school, no one would give her a chance. After I got my promotion I had to cut down on the time I spent with her. With Silva's security breach, I figured that it was more dangerous to keep in contact. What if they'd traced her to me? She was already broken, any kidnapping or hostage situation would have been the end of her. She was angry at me, certain that I'd given up on her, because I couldn't offer her any explanation apart from 'work' whenever I had to turn down a lunch date. You can imagine why I hated Sherlock after he died. After everything between the four of us, he was the one who cracked. And as if that didn't give Miri even more reason… And Mycroft knew! He knew and he didn't tell her! He didn't tell me.

That day that you found me in my office… She'd called me and told me that I hated her, that everyone did, and that I obviously didn't love her because I didn't call her anymore. She said goodbye… I drove so fast, James. I got three speeding tickets from getting from HQ to just outside London, but I still wasn't quick enough. I found her on the ground, just like John had found Sherlock. Her phone was still next to her, she must've been holding on to it when she… I called the right people, knowing that they would contact Mycroft too. But Mycroft knew that he wasn't welcome at the funeral, and he didn't contact me which I'm grateful for. But I was even more grateful for you. When you just walked into my office, and just held me, I felt, for a second, that things would be OK. And that's all I needed. I'll never be able to repay you for that, love.

But, I'm still wearing that watch, and my brothers are still prats.

I'm careful that I never bleed. I know anything different would be noticed by you, or M, or Dr Munn. And then the questions start, just like they did in high school, and it leads to all sorts of terrible situations, mostly with my brothers once again being disappointed in me. I should've known they'd notice. It almost would've been a joke if they hadn't.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you thought I was this calm and collected person, and the more you get to know me, the more you find that I'm as screwed up as everyone else. I wish I could be better for you. And maybe after Sherlock, I could have. But Miri and I… I'll show you a picture sometime, although I'll have to find them again. But we even looked alike, James. I loved her. And I thought that would be enough.

Sometimes I can't sleep. And I don't know what else to do.

Yours, as always,

Jasper.


	9. Chapter Nine

By the time Bond had finished reading, the water had been turned off, and the apartment was quiet. He leant back on his chair, taking everything in. Poor Q… No, not poor Q. Bond knew Q would hate him if he saw pity. It's just…

"I wish it had happened to someone else," he thought.

His thoughts then turned to Q this morning, who panicked after giving Bond his file. What did he say? He didn't know if Bond was staying? Of course he was. There was never any question about it, if only Q was as sure as Bond was… He heard footsteps coming down the hall, and he turned around just in time to see Q walk into the room, holding a few pieces of paper. Hesitantly, he sat down next to Bond and put it between them. The first was a photo of a family of six, and it must've been taken when Q was around thirteen. He was standing with his arm around the waist of a girl who looked like his feminine counterpart, with longer hair, and no glasses. Mycroft and Sherlock were next to their parents, apparently not having changed much in the intervening years. It was obvious that Q and Miranda were a dead split between their parents, the long, curly hair coming from their mother's side, and the high cheekbones from their father's. Bond gently pushed it to one side, and looked at the photograph beneath it. It was of Q and Miranda, and the date in the corner said it was taken only a couple of months after the Skyfall mission. They were in a park and Q was grinning, the woman next to him only smiling slightly. Q had his arm wrapped around her waist again and was hovering over her protectively. When Bond looked closer he could see Q's ear-piece still on. The sacrifices Q had made for his job…

"That was a few months before Sherlock died," Q said softly. "It was one of the last times I saw her." His eyes bore into the picture. "It had been a good day. She was offered an official part-time position at the shop, and she was so excited, James. I'd never seen her that excited."

Bond ran his thumb across the photograph, taking in the details, as he had been trained to do. The woman was obviously sick, she was even thinner than Q was, and she hadn't bothered to dress warmly against the cold. In fact, now he looked, Q was down to his shirt, and Miranda was wearing his coat and cardigan.

"She's beautiful," Bond said, imagining her with full cheeks and a wide smile.

"Yes," Q agreed. "She was."

Bond put down the photographs and turned to Q.

"We'll get them framed, OK? And any other ones you have. Let's not put them back in a drawer."

Q nodded, his eyes shining.

"I'm sorry, James."

Silently, Bond reached forward and gently held Q's hand palm up, bringing it between them. He rolled it over as if it was made of glass, and only looked at the tiny cuts along the top of Q's wrist for a second before lowering his head and kissing them.

"There's nothing to apologise for," he said, holding Q's hand against his face. "There's never anything to apologise for."


	10. Chapter Ten

Bond decided that this was one of the strangest conversations he'd had the fortune to witness. Or the misfortune. He wasn't quite sure yet.

He was sitting at the end of a table which consisted of five of the most eclectic men Bond had ever met. Immediately to his right was a very disgruntled Q, desperately looking at him for a way out, and squeezing his hand inconspicuously under the table. Across from Q, on Bond's left, was a very bored Sherlock, who was also wary of the man sitting next to him, John Watson. Bond and Watson had only just met, but both seemed slightly dazed at his surroundings. Bond noticed that John couldn't keep his eyes off Sherlock, and he seemed like he was in a constant battle with himself to either touch him or punch him. Again.

The last two men at the table were Mycroft, M's boss, and a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard, Greg Lestrade. Every now and again a man equal to Bond's build and his taste in suits would enter through one of the back doors and pass Mycroft a note, who would always read it quickly, give either a shake or a nod of his head, and tuck it into his jacket pocket. Lestrade seemed the sanest out of the people gathered, but he kept giving Sherlock half-guilty, half-unbelieving glances that added an extra sense of disbelief to the table.

It didn't help that they were also in Buckingham Palace.

That was where the argument started. All three Holmes brothers had finally agreed to a reunion, each bringing along someone to use as backup against the other two. The only question was to where? Funnily enough, they each had the exact same argument, and that was that they were too busy to have a break away from their respective work places. Q had spent whole nights in the lead up to the meeting telling Bond why it should be at MI6, with Bond dutifully nodding and hmmm'ing when Q gave him an expectant look. The topic was the first to be put out once they'd all sat down, and had continued through the entrees.

"Honestly, what happens if there's a massive security breach?" Q said, his spare hand gesturing vaguely in the direction of HQ.

"Exactly my thoughts, Q," Mycroft said smoothly. "If something happens, I need to be in the building."

"I think we both know that I can do more saving when it comes to that sort of thing than you can, Mycroft," Q said acidly, glaring at his oldest brother. Sherlock scoffed and all eyes at the table went to him.

"I think we can all agree that it's much better to eliminate the threats before they reach British soil? Or British technology," he added. "Don't you think, James?"

At once, all the attention was on him, Sherlock and Mycroft looking expectant, Q daring him to agree with someone who he was disagreeing with. Bond chose his words extremely carefully.

"Of course it's important to neutralise a threat before it could potentially harm citizens, but that's also what the majority of Q's job is about. And the times that someone has gotten into the UK, his work is unparalleled." Silence reigned as each brother added this new information to their mind and allocated different reactions. Q didn't think his was appropriate for a public meeting. "Greg, tell me about Scotland Yard."

Thankful for a distraction, Lestrade, Watson and Bond quizzed each other on their jobs, Bond asking several times more questions than answering them. The Holmes's watched and listened, Mycroft keenly observing how John still monitored Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock was looking at Bond, noticing how he sized up every messenger that came into the room, how he shifted infinitesimally to give himself the best chance of defending his little brother. Q was sizing up Lestrade, wondering exactly what his connection was to Mycroft.

As Lestrade, Bond, and Watson kept their various Holmes's in check, the rest of the meal went relatively smoothly, with Sherlock only sniping at Mycroft when dessert was bought out. He was silenced by a look and a slice of tart from John, though, and Q made eye contact with Bond and winked. He'd never seen anyone be able to control Sherlock before; it was incredibly amusing.

As soon as Sherlock had put his fork down, Mycroft's phone started buzzing and it was immediately at his ear. He listened for a while before saying "I will inform MI6 directly," and hung up. He then turned to Q, who was already sitting up straighter. He knew Mycroft's body language to distinguish that he was now Mr Holmes, or Sir. It was often how he'd found Mycroft, late at night, leaning on the kitchen tale, when it was school holidays.

"Q, major security breach through Europe. It started in three strands, in Portugal, Italy, and Greece and it's been steadily moving northwards for three days."

"Why am I only hearing about this now?"

"Because we couldn't find a connection."

"But you've found one," Bond stated.

"Obviously." Sherlock didn't need to roll his eyes, his voice was dripping with contempt at the obvious being pointed out by someone that wasn't him.

"They converged two minutes ago, in Le Havre."

Bond stood up and pulled Q's chair out for him. Q smiled and placed a hand on Bond's arm.

"I've got my best operative on it. Farewell, brothers, Greg, John." Bond nodded at the table and left with Q, following a step behind him the whole way.

Mycroft stood up, too.

"If you'll excuse me, there's a slight matter I have to attend do."

He left the room.

"He's on the phone to the French Prime Minister, you know," said Sherlock.

"Let's go," John said, picking up his coat.

"I'll give you a ride," Lestrade was standing, too.

"And I'll show you out."

Mycroft's assistant was standing in the door, briefly looking up from her phone. Sherlock noted that John's pulse didn't speed up when he saw her, like it did before The Rooftop. How intriguing.

The three of them walked out of Buckingham Palace full, and surprisingly content with how the afternoon had gone. And both Mycroft and Sherlock decided to not talk about how Bond had stolen an ashtray.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Q walked with a spring in his step. His brothers were alive and happy, even though he still hated both of them, his work was going extraordinarily well, even though M cut his budget again, and he and his partner had a ridiculously good shag after Q tried to leave for work and Bond dragged him back in by his tie, even though 007 was driving to sort out the ends of the mess that was in Le Havre, for two weeks.

He should've known it wasn't going to last.

Bond had been gone for 13 days, Q had officially put the unconscious countdown in his head to under 24 hours, when it happened. He walked out of HQ at three in the morning after a particularly nasty incident with a prototype and supposedly bulletproof glass, when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him into an unlit alley.

Q didn't breathe as he felt a gun underneath his jaw.

"No," he thought. "Please, not this again."

"Hello, Q," a female voice murmured. He didn't recognise it.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, getting straight to the point, are we? How good of you."

Q tried to turn his head, but his attacker moved the gun to his cheek, forcing him to stay still.

"Who are you?"

"Someone who's holding a gun to your head. I don't feel like there's a need for you to know anything more than that."

"I happen to disagree."

"Sorry, I'll rephrase. I don't feel like you're in a position to ask for that information." The gun slid down to his throat, resting on his pulse, to prove the point.

Q stared solidly at the dark wall in front of him, trying to keep his mind focused on the moment, rather than the cell on Markusi.

"Now, back to what I want, since you were so kind to ask. You're going to end it with Bond."

Of all the things, Q could not have expected this.

"Why?"

"You want to bring down the British Secret Service? You obviously need to destroy 007. He's the best, apart from you. But you can't kill him. So many people have tried, even people from within MI6, haven't they? Bad shot on that bridge. Oh, we've been watching Q. I hope you've fully recovered after your little holiday north. I have to say, we were concerned that Bond was ruined after that, and if they killed you, he would've been. But here you are, very much alive."

"You say we?"

"I'm afraid that if I told you, I'd have to kill you." His captor laughed at her own joke.

Q took a shot in the dark.

"What makes you think that 007 and I have anything that special? He's an agent, he doesn't love."

"He loves you, for some reason. And that's all we need to know."

"Why not just kill me, then? If you think that's the best way to do it?"

"Because it's not the best, not really. Yes, Bond would grieve, but he'd just sacrifice himself pointlessly on the next mission your M's stupid enough to send him on and that's only destroying him. We want the whole agency. Can you imagine if Bond believes that you don't love him? If he has to see you every day? That's going to be enough to truly kill him, probably until he finishes the job himself."

Q gritted his teeth, expelling the images that leapt to his mind.

"No."

"Oh, but I think yes."

"You'll have to kill me." Q wasn't being a hero, he knew James would let himself be killed in a heartbeat if it saved Q. He knew Bond thought nothing different of Q.

"And we might, one day. Either that or let you live with the guilt… All I can promise is that we won't leave you in working order when we're done."

"What makes you think that pointing a gun at me is going to make me do what you want? I'm not planning on being some part in your plan."

His captor leant forward and whispered in Q's ear.

"Because you're not the only one with a gun pointing at them."

Q shivered, this was impossible.

"221b Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson. So nice they're finally reunited. And that gorgeous little apartment in Kensington, belonging to Mycroft Holmes, although he also has his quarters in the East Wing of Buckingham Palace. Gregory Lestrade, Detective Inspector of Scotland yard, frequents both locations."

Q's heart almost stopped and the blood drained from his face.

"Not my family."

"That's what I thought. Here's what you need to do. Tomorrow, before midday, you'll talk to 007. We'll be waiting." The gun left Q's throat and pressed instead into the small of Q's back, and he inhaled, trying to force his chest open. Without warning he felt something cold pressed against his skin and a sharp pain ripped through his side. He leant forward, but the person behind him grabbed his hair and forced him vertical again. "A tracker, in case you get any ideas." He felt the pressure from the gun disappear and his attacker started slipping into the shadows. "By way the, Q, tomorrow at midday Mycroft has a meeting in Downing Street, on the fourth floor, third window across. Lestrade will be investigating a murder in Essex, and Sherlock and John will be interviewing a very intriguing client in their living room. Also, if you don't, we'll find a way to get Bond. But we won't kill him. There are plans that have been waiting for someone just like him to put to the test. I wonder how high his pain threshold really is? In case you needed more motivation. Have a pleasant evening."

Q waited until the footsteps faded away before leaning back on the wall. Rain had started to fall and it dripped down his face and under his clothes. He stayed there till he was drenched and shivering. What was he going to do?


	12. Chapter Twelve

Q didn't sleep that night.

He sat at the kitchen table for three hours, until seven in the morning, and he only stirred then because he heard his alarm going off. He'd run an electronic scan on whatever they'd implanted in him, and it turned out that it not only was a tracker, but had enough explosive content to blow out his stomach that would be triggered by anything metallic or plastic. Q recognised the design. Someone had leaked his prototype, but that wasn't his biggest concern right now.

After thinking for hours Q realised that he didn't have a choice. His brother had finally been reunited, against the odds of death and terrorists and personalities and wills, they'd finally come to a place that they'd never been before: almost friends. He knew that it had everything to do with their three partners, possibly the only trio in the whole world that would dare to take any of the Holmes's on. Definitely the only trio that could do it and win.

Q's back-up alarm went off at 7:30.

His last-chance alarm went off at eight.

At 11:00, Q walked into Q Unit, nodding at his minions who'd already started work for the day. Hoping he wasn't attracting too much attention he quietly let himself into his office, and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath that didn't calm him at all and turned around.

Bond was sitting in his chair. Smirking.

"You're late, Quartermaster. Tell me you're not shagging someone else when I'm away."

Q just stared at him, his mind whirring.

"You're not meant to be back for another hour."

He'd been counting on that, relying on that, in order to get his story straight.

"I finished early. I've even been to Medical."

Bond stood up and walked around the desk, reaching for Q's shoulders, looking intently into his eyes.

"I missed you."

Bond leaned forward and captured Q's lips in a scorching kiss. Q leant into it for a second before closing his mind and his heart, and opening his eyes. He stepped around Bond and walked to the other side of his desk.

"Q? What's wrong?"

And Bond was looking at him, really looking at him. Welcome and lust and love left his face and was completely replaced by concern and the fierce protectiveness that only he could possess.

"Jasper, what's happened?"

Q blamed himself for what was obviously not a good poker face. He could count the times Bond called him by his real name on one hand. He steeled himself and dug his nails into his palms under the desk.

"Bond, we need to talk."

"Using clichés? This must be serious." Bond's tone was light but his eyes were piercing Q's, trying to draw the truth out of him. Q thought of his family and his lover and straightened his shoulders, making his face blank and professional.

"You're right," he said in clipped tones. "We don't need to talk, you need to listen. Or don't, it won't change my mind."

"Change your mind on what?" Bond was cautious. Q didn't use that tone on him. Not ever.

"It's over, Bond."

The silence shook the room.

"No-" Bond started.

"Don't interrupt, 007!" Q snapped. His eyes flashed and Bond almost took a step back. "You never listen to me, in or out of the field, so just try, for once, will you?" Q hated himself. He knew he was the only person Bond ever listened to. "I can't do this, not anymore. Not with your job, and not with mine." Q stopped talking, needing a moment to control his chest. Bond took the opportunity.

"I don't understand."

"You wouldn't, would you?" Q spat back.

"Q, what are you saying?"

"That this is an impossible situation and it's not getting better. Frankly, I'm sorry that it's gone this far."

"What's not working, Q?" Bond was starting to crumble, Q could see the edges cracking, one by one. He loathed every tremor in Bond's voice, but he forced the words past his lips, thinking of his brothers, thinking of their partners, thinking of Bond saying 'I love you' one last time.

"I'm young, Bond. I'm the Quartermaster of MI6, I'm 27, and my brothers rule England. Who knows what I'm going to be doing in even the next year, and I can't have anyone holding me back."

Bond circled the desk, cupping Q's face in his hands, which were shaking.

"No, Q. You can't- You don't."

Q looked back at him, his eyes unwavering.

"I do. I mean it."

"I don't believe you."

As soon as those words left Bond's mouth Q felt something inside of him start thrumming painfully. Without moving he catalogued the position and his hands went cold. It was the tracker, the explosive had been activated. How long did he have? Minutes? Seconds? He needed Bond to believe him now, they were both in the blast radius. He took a step back, leaving Bond's hands clasping nothing, trying to get space between them in case something went wrong.

"You hold me back. I don't know if it's because you're jealous, or if it's because I make you feel like you're worthy of your job, but you'll never let me extend to my full potential. I see that now. I'd appreciate it if you removed your possessions from my house before I return this evening. Now, if you've returned your equipment from your mission, I have work to be doing."

He turned away so he didn't have to look at his partner, so he didn't have to see the pain. Bond lunged forward and grabbed Q's wrist spinning him around.

"Q," he pleaded, his voice a whisper. "I'd do anything for you. Please, just tell me what I can do." The vibrations through his torso flicked to a higher frequency. He had to get away. He had to keep James safe.

"Leave me be."

And the only words left to be said moved through the air, and Q felt them against his face, a promise that was never meant to be broken, that was meant to be able to overcome anything.

"Jasper, I love you."

"Forgive me, James," Q thought, before doing the unthinkable.

"I don't love you."

Q watched Bond break, and kept his face as steady as he could. His stomach curled as the explosive vibrated even faster.

"And understand, 007," Q said, in his coldest and most detached voice, "that it is inappropriate for you to use that name again. Now please leave my office."

And Bond, for once in his life, walked away, beaten in a fight for the only thing he'd ever loved.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

For the first week, no one saw or heard from 007. By the time Q got home that night, all evidence of Bond ever being there was cleared away. He checked the security camera footage and Bond had done a sweep of the whole apartment before dumping everything in a car and driving off.

At the end of the second week M got a call from the hospital. Bond had drunk so much his stomach had needed to be pumped. He would be fine, but his records matched a file that had ordered a particular number to be called. Eve was at the hospital when Bond finally awoke, feeling absolutely wretched.

"Bond."

"Eve."

They sat in silence for an hour before Eve left without a word.

Bond was allowed out in under 24 hours.

In a week, he was back in again.

This time when he woke, Tanner was in the chair.

"Bond."

"Tanner."

"Good to see you awake. Apparently you had too much Scotch in your system."

"Really?"

"And tequila."

"Tanner-"

"And vodka, amongst other things. Report to HQ when you're released."

Tanner got up and stood at the door for a moment.

"And for God's sake, don't do it again."

Bond didn't show up at MI6 the next day, but M got the same call for a third week in a row. This time, he was sitting in the chair next to the pristine white sheets and walls.

"Bond."

"M."

"Are you actually trying to kill yourself? Because even this is a pretty messy effort."

"Well, you're one to start with the pleasantries, aren't you?"

"Shut up, Bond. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Bond ignored him. M threw some pants and a shirt onto the bed.

"Get up, we're going."

He waited outside the room to let Bond change. Once the agent, or what was left of him, walked out the door, M whisked him away and back to HQ, easily directing him to Medical, where Bond fell into the nearest bed, refusing to talk to anyone. His body was aching with exhaustion but he didn't want to sleep, falling prey once again to the dreams of dark hair and bright eyes, smiling so wide and leaning forward to kiss him once on the lips, along his jaw and to his ear. The lips would part and Q's elegant voice would whisper into his brain: "I don't love you anymore."

Bond didn't even dare close his eyes.

Q sat hunched on his desk, trying to focus on a new security system for MI5, who'd begged MI6 to lend Q to them for a few days after someone almost hacked through their firewalls. He heard the door open, but ignored Eve until she sat on his desk and cleared her throat. Q looked up.

"He's awake."

Of course Q had heard about Bond. He's hoped Moneypenny didn't lean any further over or she would be able to see the handcuffs he'd used to attach his ankle to the desk. The keys were on the far side of the room, he'd get R to pick them up when he trusted himself not to bolt out the door to Bond.

"He's not good, Q."

"I'm sorry Eve, I need to finish this in three hours."

She sighed and left the room, hoping to whatever was left in the universe that either Bond or Q would figure something out.

A week later, Tanner knocked on the door, finding Q with his nose in a file held in his left hand while typing with his right. He didn't look up when Tanner sat down.

"He just woke up, Q. I don't think he's feeling too well."

"He shouldn't have drank that much, then." Q kept his face carefully blank, glaring intensely at the words in front of him.

"Q, don't you think-"

"If you'll excuse me Tanner, 005's going to Vietnam in twenty minutes and I still don't know if this watch is going to withstand the humidity."

Tanner got up and left without a backwards glance.

Q rolled his ankle, trying to get the blood back into his foot. He hoped R wouldn't ask about the key again.

Seven days later and Q had almost reached his breaking point. He was in the firing range when he felt a cool breeze on his neck, and turned to see M standing behind him, leaning against the wall. Q put the gun down on a tray and took off the earmuffs.

"Sir."

"He finally surfaced. It took much longer than last week. I got him back here and he's crashed in Medical."

Q bit the inside of his cheek so hard it bled.

"I don't see what this has to do with me."

"You honestly can't tell me that you don't care at all about him, Q."

"He's a good agent."

"He's a good man."

Q couldn't say anything.

"I don't know what happened between the two of you, and I won't get involved, but you two got through Skyfall together. And Markusi, when he went missing earlier this year, and the return of your family. Don't you think he deserves more than this?"

Q was barely keeping it together.

"If he were any other agent, I wouldn't be at his bedside. He gets no special treatment."

He turned back around and picked up the earmuffs and the gun, firing five rounds in quick succession, not even bothering to reset the target. M watched him for a minute before walking away. There's nothing more he could do.

Later that night Q closed down the program he was working on and stretched. He'd sent everyone else home hours ago, and Q-Unit was all but empty. He slowly made his way down to the carport - he'd been driving himself to and from work using the company cars since the incident four weeks ago. He stopped outside the entrance to Medical, longingly gazing at the doors.

Surely Bond would be asleep… He could sneak past the night nurses, they wouldn't even know… But as soon as his hand touched the doorknob the pressure in his side tightened to the highest he'd ever felt and he immediately let go. He took a step back and the vibrations died down.

So that's how it's going to be.

Q walked to his car and drove back to the empty house. Like so many nights in a row he didn't bother to eat, only throwing himself in the shower before clambering into the cold bed, wishing more than anything that James was there beside him. As the night rolled on and the sounds of the city reached their quietest, Q finally allowed himself to cry.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Months went by, and Bond finally passed his psych evaluation, clearing him for field work once more. Q's hands started shaking when he received the message that 007 was heading down to pick up his equipment. He hadn't seen him since the last time Bond had been in his office, and he knew that he didn't want to now. He would have to be quick, professional, not letting any cracks show. For both their sakes. He still got warning buzzes in his side if he went too close to Medical, or Bond's office, reminding him of the explosive nestled underneath his ribcage. He knew not to approach Bond, and Bond hadn't made any contact with him.

But Q's carefully laid plans went out the window as soon as Bond stepped into the room. The tracker went haywire, it felt like it was going to rip itself out of Q's skin. Q barely stopped himself from pitching forward, instead grabbing the corner of his desk and squeezing so hard his knuckles went white.

"I've come to collect my equipment," Bond said, taking a step forward. The pain changed into burning, red hot pain, spreading slowly through Q's torso. The explosives had gone into the last stage. There were seconds left… Q did the only thing he could.

"Get out," he hissed between his teeth, still trying to keep the pain from his face.

"I need my equipment!" Bond's mask threatened to break before he regained composure.

"Get out now! Go!" Q yelled at him, and Bond turned on his heel and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. The tremors through his body slowly started to fade and Q leapt for his bin and was sick. That was close. That had been far too close.

That afternoon Q dropped off a file on M's desk without saying anything and walked away. M picked it up and skimmed through it, it was a request for 007 to change handlers. He sighed as his eyes went to the email he'd received less than a minute ago, from Bond, asking the same thing.

Bond knew that life that mocking him. The universe was sitting back in its star-made armchair moving Bond about like a pawn and laughing at him. He'd given up on anything any normal person wants to achieve, until he met Q. Q who made him laugh when a mission had gone horribly wrong. Q that could comfort without making it feel like a weakness. Steady, reliable, gorgeous Q. He was all Bond cared about, and all Bond lived for. He was all Bond had wanted… And now they couldn't even be in the same room together.

Bond had to prepare himself before going back to Q's office, to face the man himself. He didn't use alcohol, or work himself into a painful oblivion, he just closed off every emotion until there was no love, and no hate, and no hurt that could get in the way. It would've worked if Q hadn't blown it. It was strange, there was a moment there when Q looked like he was in pain, a flash of fear behind his eyes, but Bond shook it off. There was nothing wrong. There was just the emptiness of what was. The old M would have been unimpressed with that, sentimentality making him soft and vulnerable. It was pitiful.

And it wouldn't happen again. Which is why Bond applied for a new handler. If Q didn't want to even see him, fine. He wouldn't.

More months passed in a daze of paperwork, prototypes, and the occasional twinges of pain whenever Bond was nearby. Q had taken to shutting himself in his office while R gave the agent his equipment, not opening the door until he was sure that Bond was gone. He barely got through the day, and he hated the nights even more. Dreams of Markusi melted into dreams of explosions, the whole time Bond looking on, and doing nothing. Q would wake shaking, after all but no rest, and get up to go through another day without Bond's reassurance in his ear, or his hand on his arm. His brothers tried to contact him, but he brushed them off, using work as an excuse, and the buzzing in his torso stopped when they hung up the phone. After a while they stopped calling. After all, it wasn't unlike one of them to become so focused on their work to completely forget about family.

Q arrived for another day of what felt like meaningless work to have R push a bunch of new weapons into his hands and direct him down to the firing range. He didn't need to ask why. Bond was due out in half an hour and still needed his equipment. Q walked out of Q-Unit and into the lift, reorganising his schedule to accommodate the new proceedings. He felt the twinge in his stomach as the lift slowed down. He looked at the floor.

No.

Oh God please no.

The doors opened and Bond stepped in, before noticing Q. He turned around to leave, just as Q made his way towards the door, but it was already closed and the lift was moving again. They stared at each other. Q's side felt like it was boiling. He closed his eyes and focused on something else, anything else, but the pain become worse and worse.

"One more stop," he thought. "Just one more stop-"

The lift shuddered to a halt and the light dimmed threateningly. For two completely different reasons, Bond and Q thought the exact same thing.

This can't be happening.

A friendly voice chime through the overhead.

"Hello, sorry, the lift's broken down, but we'll get someone along to fix it soon. How many people are in the elevator?"

Bond leaned in towards the microphone. Q was glad, he couldn't move.

"Two."

"And your names, please?"

"007 and… the Quartermaster."

There was a brief silence as the voice processed the situation. It was all-too common knowledge that not only had they broken up, but they couldn't stand to be near each other, even after almost six months.

"We'll get you out of there as soon as possible. We ask you to be patient."

Q rolled his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain as quietly as possibly. Bond grunted at the microphone and leant on the wall, looking anywhere except for at Q.

The pain was unbearable. Q tried to subtly press a hand against his side, but couldn't keep in the gasp when his hand came away slick and red. He turned his side towards the wall and bunched up his cardigan, trying to pressure the wound that the tracker was making. In a minute the fabric was soaked. Q tried to shift it to use a clean part but gravity was not on his side, and a drop of blood fell from the material and hit the grey, tiled floor. The movement caught Bond's eye and he stared at it, not quite believing that it was there. Slowly he looked at Q, who held his gaze for a moment before falling to the ground. Bond took a step forward.

"No, don't!"

Q's voice wasn't authoritarian anymore, if Bond didn't know better, he would say it sounded scared.

Bond took another step forward, and beads of sweat ran down Q's face as his head snapped back against the wall.

"Stay away, James! Don't you ever do what you're told?!"

At the use of his name he froze, and at the change in Q's tone he walked backwards until he was against the opposite wall, making the most of the two metres of distance between them.

"Q, what's going on?"

Blood was now pooling around Q as he gasped and shuddered, pain wracking through his body. It felt like the explosive was trying to tear itself out of his torso, and he tried to shut the Aliens reference out of his mind.

"Six months and you finally think something might be wrong."

Bond's forehead furrowed, not understanding.

Q pitched forward and lay on the floor, choking on the air in his throat. He could feel the tracker beginning to expand inside of him.

"I'm so sorry James. I tried, I promise you I tried. You have to know that."

Bond reached out for him, but withdrew it as Q hissed at the new stab of pain, tears now rolling down his cheeks.

"Q, please, tell me-" Bond had never felt more useless. The man he loved, still loved, would never stop loving was bleeding out on the MI6 lift floor and he couldn't even touch him. Q knew it would end soon, and he had to tell Bond before it did.

"Six months ago," Q panted. "The day before you got back from Le Havre, I was compromised- ah!" The pain was now spreading through his chest and across his back. He arched against it, trying desperately to get away. "They told me to end it, or they'd kill everyone, you and Mycroft, and Sherlock, and John, and Greg. They managed to get a tracker in me, and they watch. They've been watching this whole time."

Bond just looked at Q on the floor, wishing you could do something, anything.

"They know when you're close, and…" Q's voice trailed off as he tried to force air into his lungs.

"If it's a tracker, why does it hurt? Q? Please Q, keep talking, it'll be a moment longer and they'll get us out of here! I promise! Q!"

Q rolled onto his back so he could see Bond's face, that beautiful, torn, scarred face that he loved more than anything.

"Someone sold my prototype. It's not just a tracker, it's has… explosive qualities. I'm so sorry, I don't know how much there is, or how long we've got."

Bond's eyes flashed in rage.

"You've had a bomb inside of you for six months?"

Q almost cracked a smile.

"What, did you think I really didn't love you? You're more of a fool than I thought, James."

Just then Q felt something click inside of him and the pain stopped. He looked into Bond's ice-blue eyes. He couldn't die. This gorgeous agent couldn't die inside an elevator, and not from him.

"Give me your gun."

"What?"

"James, please, give me your gun."

Bond hesitated, more emotions than he thought could be held in one mind at once ripped through his head.

"Trust me once more, James. Just once."

Bond slid the Walther across the floor. Q sat up and lined the barrel up with where he knew the tracker was and hoped to God that this was going to work.

"Q, what are you doing?!"

Q looked at James once more and smiled.

"Now, now, James. You know my name, and you're the only person who's allowed to use it."

"Jasper-"

"I love you. And I am so sorry if there was any doubt in your mind about that."

He closed his eyes, not wanting to watch James's reaction, and pulled the trigger, safe in the knowledge that he'd done everything he could.


	15. Chapter FIfteen

Colours bloomed from the endless darkness, his mind only recognising the most basic senses. Old smells and sounds drifted through haze of nothing and he didn't even try and figure out what was going on. It wasn't like he could think anyway. He was a mindless being, merely observing interesting patterns that were playing for him, and only for him.

Eventually the colours started moving together, becoming more solid and changed into shapes that seemed like they should be recognised. A school, built on prestige, drifted past, mocking laughs and admiring glances caught in the reflection of a computer screen. A too-slender figure in a dark room, crying, as a mother and a father faded into the background. Two men in the front seat of an expensive car, talking quietly, not knowing that the passenger behind them was awake and listening. Two bodies, so close to each other, found lying on the ground, both with pale skin framed by dark hair. A white room, filled with the rainfall of fingers pressing keys, a beautiful and calming monotony of sound. Red tainted the scene, darkening the bright lights until it filled the vision. Pain seared across what must have been a body; water and electricity and guns and knives, even bare skin, used in ruthless ways against a restrained victim. The sounds turned harsh and cut through, loud screams and muffled crying, the whirring of a helicopter. Finally the red deepened to black and time was infinite. All was quiet. There was nothing.

Until a small light shone. Coming closer, so slowly, until it split into two. A body of a man formed, strong, muscular, secure. Dark material padded his skin and he stood as if nothing in the world could bring him down. A face came out of the shadows, stern but not unkind. It highlighted the original two lights, which seemed to stand out from the rest. Stand out from everything. Scorching ice blue eyes looked straight ahead, fixed on… something. Without warning, the face relaxed and broke into a handsome smile, filled with trust, and love, and hope. The image seemed to halt, spending more and more time on that face… That face. Shouldn't he know it? Didn't this smiling man have a name, a story? The man's smile faltered slightly, and his brow twitched downwards, as if he were confused.

"Q?"

Q, Q, Q, Q, Q, Q, Q. A deep voice echoed in the emptiness, bouncing off the walls that must be just beyond the light. That voice was… comforting, even when it sounded concerned. That wasn't right. That voice shouldn't be unhappy… What did it say?

"Q."

Q.

Q…

Q.

Q.

That's me.

The thought came unbidden, as surprising as the concept of thought actually was. The memory, because that's what it was, almost seemed to reach forward, offering an open palm.

James. The thought ran through Q's mind.

Yes.

Q's. Mind.

James!

Q wrenched his thoughts free, pulling as far away from the darkened void as he could, pulling himself back into his head, struggling to remain coherent to himself. Lights blinded him as he dragged his eyelids open, feeling the blood pumping from his chest to his fingertips, the sharp smell of disinfectant and fabric and cleanliness assaulting him as he inhaled, the beeping sound in his ears only just audible over… Is that Beethoven?

His attention was drawn to his hand as he felt a light pressure, as something outside his view shifted. He tilted his head to the left and the incredibly familiar blue stare fixed itself to him. James leant forward, not breaking eye contact and pressed a button with his spare hand on the stand that was next to him, attached to the bed. He continued the motion and gently, as if Q were made of the most fragile substance in creation, pressed his lips to Q's head, a silent reassurance of safety and love. Q tried to speak, to tell James that he was OK, that everything was OK, that he was so sorry, that he loved him, but he only managed to form the words in his head before his eyes slid shut and a comforting peace overtook him, knowing that he was safe as long as James was there.

The next time he awoke, the steady beep of the heart-monitor was being drowned out by one of Chopin's nocturnes. Q allowed himself to listen to the melody for a moment before opening his eyes and taking in his surroundings. He was back in Medical, surrounded by the pristine white walls that could detect the slightest traces of dust or bacteria. There was the steady bustle of feet and trolleys coming from the corridor, muted by the closed door. As he turned his head, he found James, sitting in the chair next to the bed. Q let his hand grasp in the direction of the controller for the bed before Bond took his hand in his own, and the controller in the other, adjusting the flexible mattress so Q was effectively sitting up.

"Thank you," Q tried to croak out, but it only ended as a slightly heavier exhale as he found his throat was drier than sand. Bond's hand let go of the controller and seemingly made a cup and straw appear out of nowhere. He lifted it to Q's lips who sucked at it greedily, revelling in the feeling of the cool liquid massaging his mouth. When the straw drew in air, Q released it and looked at Bond's face.

"Hello," he said, in what he hoped was a completely confident and casual manner.

"Hello," Bond replied, smiling back.

Q didn't quite know what to say next.

"You'll be glad to know that I won in the argument with your brothers about who gets to kill you first, and the only reason they're not here right now is because John and Greg came in half and hour ago and literally dragged them away to go get lunch. I somehow don't think that we're going to be alone for very much longer, but that's OK. I think they've more than earned their right to-"

"I love you."

Bond stopped and looked at Q with something akin to surprise. Q's stomach twisted at Bond's reaction, but took advantage of the silence nonetheless.

"I love you and I am so sorry. I never meant anything I said six months ago. You always listen to me, even if you don't agree, and the only lie I've said that's bigger than when I said that my job was more important than anything else, was when I said I didn't love you. You have done nothing but encourage me even in my most ridiculous ideas. I thought I could never hate myself more than when I told you to leave my office that day, but I did, for every single day after." Q took a deep breath, half expecting Bond to interrupt, but he mercifully stayed quiet. "I am so sorry, and if you never forgive me, never trust me, I understand. But please, please know that I was protecting you. Right until the very end, I was protecting you." Q then had to stop, as he tried to suck in another breath, but he was shaking too much to do anything than gasp down what air was left in the room as the first tear rolled down his cheek. He broke the eye contact with Bond and looked at the sheets in front of him, trying to control his emotions. A second later he felt a warm, callused hand gently touch his chin, directing it back towards those blue, blue eyes that were much closer than before.

James's lips brushed against Q's before solidly owning them, knocking down Q's walls and rebuilding a fortress around the both of them, a deep sound building in his chest as Q pressed into him.

"Jasper," Bond whispered against Q's lips and Q shuddered at hearing his name said by that voice. Finally Bond put his hands on either side of Q's face and held their faces inches apart.

"When you're ready, you'll tell me everything that happened from that night before I came back from Le Havre, to what went through your head in the lift, but until then, during then, and forever after then, know that I love you."

Q nodded, too overwhelmed to answer.

"Good. Now, are you up to handling your brothers? Although to be honest I don't think you'll get much choice in the matter, they should be here any-" And for the second time that day, Bond was cut off by a Holmes.

Q had seen his brothers look worried before, but the sight of both of them running through the door, each holding their partner's hand tightly in their own bought a new wave of emotions crashing through him. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock turned on Bond.

"You were meant to text me when he woke up!"

Bond remain unperturbed.

"You had the CTV cameras linked to your phone, I figured you wouldn't truly let him out of your sight, even for coffee."

John stepped between them, acting as a barrier and a mediator, and focused his attention on Q.

"How are you feeling?"

Q shrugged, and faintly regretted it, feeling the burn twinge in his side.

"I don't know how many pain meds I'm on right now, but I actually feel OK. I haven't moved yet, though, but I'm going to put that off as long as necessary." He looked at Bond. "Was anyone else hurt?"

Bond shook his head.

"Nothing bad enough to feel worried about, or guilty for. I'm still amazed it worked."

"How did you do it, Q?" Greg piped up from beside Mycroft. "Sherlock explained, but I think I naturally tune him out now, so I missed most of it."

Sherlock huffed, but was quickly quietened with a pat on the shoulder from John. Q smiled at the pair of them before turning his attention back to Greg.

"I knew I had to get the tracker out of me as soon as possible, but I also didn't know the blast radius. I took a chance. And," he looked at Bond now. "I'm sorry that I potentially risked your life. But it was either that or have the whole lift blow up, and I don't seem to have your fondness for impromptu explosions."

"There is nothing to apologise for," Bond said, locking his gaze onto Q's, mentally forcing the message across. Q tilted his head, acquiescing for the moment.

"So what happened?" Greg asked again, impatient to be in the loop.

"It was going to detonate, I could feel it, so I used James's gun to shoot it out of me. I knew it'd be close, because if it didn't explode before the bullet hit it, it definitely would soon after. I aimed it at a wall, so it wouldn't hit James, and I don't remember the rest…" Q trailed off, looking at his partner, who took up the story.

"The explosive went through the wall, just as it blew, destroying the lift shaft around us, and the cable. It fell, but all shafts are designed in a slim cone shape, aimed to slowly stop a fall. We only had to fall about four stories before we stopped and someone got the doors open as I got Q, then bought him straight down here."

The door opened, and M, Tanner, and Eve managed to squeeze themselves into the room. M started talking straight away.

"The bomb hit the wall and exploded it, causing havoc through the office, but all the injuries were superficial." M fixed Q with a glare. "I have to say, I'm not entirely convinced this wasn't a whole stunt to throw something explosive into the Finance Department, however…" He looked at Bond. "You've healed well?"

"I'm fine, sir."

"You got hurt?" Q was shocked, Bond looked quite healthy.

"Just normal bumps and bruises. Certainly nothing worse than going out on a mission. I was in a sling for a few days."

"Until he ripped it off," John muttered, from Sherlock's side. Q eyed Bond.

"But if you've healed, and M's making jokes… How long have I been asleep?"

"A month," Mycroft put in, calmly.

"A month!" Evidently, Q was not going to keep calm. Bond took over, reaching for his hand and pressing soothing circles into the back of it.

"It was general wear and tear. The amount of times that bloody bomb must have heated up your gut, it's amazing it didn't start bleeding before it did. It's also amazing that there was as little damage as there was. But even then most of your intestines had been burned enough for it do some harm, and there was some worry about if it had effected your lungs at all. So you've had a few surgeries, but it's all done now, everything's OK. A week's rest at home and you'll be back in the office."

"Q-Unit misses you," Tanner put in. "And R is determined to offload 007 back onto his usual handler. She's completely sick of him."

Bond grinned, not even trying to look innocent.

"What can I say? I think I only work well with my Quartermaster."

M rolled his eyes.

"I'm just glad you're willing to work with someone." He stood up and checked his watch. "If you'll excuse me, we have a meeting to prepare for. I dare say you'll be released shortly, Q. Have a good break."

With a nod to the rest of them, M walked out, followed by Eve and Tanner, who waved cheerfully at them all. When the door swung shut, Mycroft cleared his throat.

"I should get going now, too. Seeing as that meeting's with me." He looked at Greg. "I'll see you tonight?"

"No, you won't," Sherlock cut in, just as Lestrade's phone went off in his pocket. "New case. Let's go, John!" John patted Q's foot gently before sidling after Sherlock, who'd already bolted out the door. Mycroft and Greg walked out after them, leaving Bond and Q alone.

Bond shook his head in disbelief.

"If someone had told me that you were the sanest out of all of them, I never would have believed it, but now…"

Q smiled and leant forward for a kiss.

"Home soon, James?"

"Definitely."

Bond lay on the hospital bed next to him, and wrapped Q's small form against his chest.

"Q, do me a favour?"

Q hummed, his eyes closing.

"Let's not make you spending time in Medical an annual thing. The chair I can get used to, but the food really is bloody dreadful."

Q laughed and snuggled even closer to Bond, content.


End file.
